The Scoop of a Lifetime
by Soleneus
Summary: If there's one thing Rita Skeeter is good at, it's sniffing out a story, and when she sees a downtrodden Harry Potter at King's Crossing, by Merlin does she find a story! One that will change the face of the Wizarding World, Harry Potter, and even Rita herself. Harry was always more Slytherin than Gryffindor, really, and with someone to grow those traits...they won't see it coming.
1. Is That A Story I Smell?

Rita Skeeter was referred to as a journalist in polite company, and as a muckraker, yellow journalist, too-nosy-for-her-own-good-scarlet-woman in impolite company, and 'That Bitch' privately. As in, 'How did That Bitch discover my secrets?!' It was something Rita was quite proud of, actually. Only Dumbledore, Voldemort and Harry Potter had more titles bandied about than her, and she hadn't even killed anyone!

Quite the accomplishment, really.

And it was her dedication to maintain her titles that led Rita 'That Bitch' Skeeter to Platform 9¾ at the end of Harry Potter's second year at Hogwarts. There had been several interesting rumors coming out of the celebrated magical school, hurried whispers about some sort of danger lurking in the halls and attacking children. Dumbledore had even been suspended! A golden opportunity, except for the fact that no one knew _precisely_ what was going on. It was fertile ground for some digging and planting the seeds of disingenuous rumors, that would spring up into fat, glorious fruit ripe for the picking.

There was also a murmur that Lucius Malfoy had stormed into Hogwarts in a right tizzy, and had left looking particularly rumpled and harried not an hour later. Rita was hoping to catch his blond Lordship when he came to pick up his runt from the train, and she'd been so eager to catch him that she'd skipped lunch.

It was too good an opportunity, too juicy a rumor; with the potential for a thick, meaty story to rise up like the scent from the chip shop just outside King's Crossing!

 _I should've gotten lunch,_ she decided, mentally slapping herself as the crimson Hogwarts Express rolled to a stop in the station, steam billowing into the air from its tall smokestack. Her dark green eyes glittered with excitement as she spied the high-quality robes and silky blond hair of the Malfoy Lord, his expression one of a man who'd stepped in a particularly smelly shite.

Her strides long and confident, her ruby-red heels clicking on the stone, Rita strode up to Lucius Malfoy, straightening her lemon-yellow jacket and pushing her horn-rimmed glasses up her nose. "Why, Lord Malfoy!" She greeted him loudly, drawing his attention and everyone else's in a five-meter radius. "What a surprise to see you here!"

He squinted at her, looking quite constipated. "Ah, Rita," he sneered, brushing his glorious golden locks over his shoulder. "What is so surprising about me wanting to retrieve my son?" 'You stupid bint,' went unsaid.

She waved him off with a screechy cackle, "Oh, that's not what I meant! I was simply surprised to see you here…without Lady Malfoy. Perhaps you're not just looking to 'pick up' your fine young man, _Lucius_?" Rita fluttered her eyelashes at him, standing in such a way that it drew the eye to the square inch of cleavage she had on display.

It made her chuckle inside to see his barely-concealed face of disgust. "No, Ms. Skeeter, I am simply here to retrieve my progeny. What do you want?" He asked with loathing bare in his voice.

"Oh fine," Rite giggled, whipping out a roll of parchment and her trusty Quik-Quotes quill. "Would you care to comment on the recent mysterious events at Hogwarts? The suspension of Albus Dumbledore, or the Arrest of Rubeus Hagrid?"

Malfoy stiffened almost imperceptibly. "Those matters are quite confidential, I assure you, Ms. Skeeter," he sneered grandly, "I'm afraid someone of _your_ station is unsuited to hearing about them."

"Oh, so Minister Fudge _is_ involved, is he?" She asked with mock surprise as her quill scribbled away.

Lucius narrowed his eyes on her before turning to his approaching son. "Draco," he greeted stiffly. "Come along. The stench in this place is quite galling."

Sensing her story slipping away, Rita made a wide grab. "Wait! Can you comment on the events that took place last week, when you visited Hogwarts and then left in hurry?" She blurted.

The blond Lord slowly turned an acid glare on her, his lip curling in an angry snarl. "I couldn't possibly comment Ms. Skeeter, and you should know better than to nose in my business," he nearly growled, seizing Draco by the arm and marching to the apparition point.

"You'd think I'd learn," she murmured, rolling her eyes. _There goes two hours of my life,_ she grumped, stuffing her materials in her bag and making to leave. Before she could, a chorus of voices rose up from the platform. _Ugh, Weasleys._

Through the gaggle of lanky red-heads and their plump mother, Rita spied something that instantly drew her attention. Through the forest of freckled limbs there stood a small boy, with a buck-toothed bushy-haired brunette by his side, speaking very quickly if she saw right. He was raven-haired and pale-skinned, his small frame dwarfed by his baggy, colorless clothes. His eyes were a bright green and emphasised by the round glasses perched on his nose, and she could spot the end of a jagged scar on his forehead.

Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived.

He was a lot shorter than Rita expected. Shorter, even, than the girl standing next to him. Something about him made it hard for her to look away, but she didn't know what. Maybe it was because he looked a year younger than twelve? Or the fact that the last son of the Potters looked like a pauper? Or the way his eyes went wide when the girl hugged him, and he minutely flinched?

Rita's reporter-senses were tingling. A story, many stories even, hung around that boy like a shroud of light and she was a moth. Unconsciously, she found herself walking after him, flitting in and out of the crowd as she followed the flock of freckled red-heads. She palmed her wand and flicked a quick notice-me-not charm around herself as she stepped through the barrier into the Muggle world.

She watched from a distance as the Weasleys traded good-byes with the Boy-Who-Lived and the bushy girl and hurried away, the muggleborn girl sliding into a sensible sedan a scant minute later. Harry Potter stood on the curb alone except for his white owl, looking quite miserable.

It was the perfect time to act.

As she walked towards the boy, hidden by the charm, Rita's womanly form shrunk and formed into that of a large but rather plain, if exquisitely-patterned beetle, in her completely unbiased opinion. With a quick flutter of her wings, Rita hid herself in one of the multiple folds of cloth of Harry's shirt, finding it to be a rather comfortable, if temporary, nest. She only had to wait for a few minutes before the screeching of tires heralded the arrival of another vehicle.

Not daring to peek out from her hiding place, Rita only heard the following conversation. "What are you waiting for, boy? Get in the car!" For some reason, the voice brought to mind a hippo, and the heavy footfalls and loud breathing only added to it.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," came the voice of the Boy-Who-Lived, his tone dull and nearly lifeless. If she was capable of it, Rita would've frowned. Something about his voice and the way her nest subtly shifted made it seem like Harry Potter was downtrodden. But that couldn't have been right. No way Dumbledore, sparer of Grindelwald, would leave his protege in anything less than a stellar home.

But then again, Rita had seen behind the Headmaster's shining persona before. All it did was increase her curiosity. She clung on as Harry got in the car, or SUV given the sound of the engine, and made herself comfortable for the trip.

"When we get home, your unnatural rubbish is going in the cupboard, do you hear me?" The fat muggle growled, and she imagined him shaking a meaty fist for emphasis. "And don't think I've forgotten about your little 'lie-by-omission', either, boy. That stick of yours is going in there as well!"

While that threat was interesting and concerning, the 'lie-by-omission' thing was what really got Rita's attention. It appeared the last Potter wasn't as Gryffindor as he was gold-colored! What she knew of the Boy-Who-Lived seemed to be wrong, and that opened many new and exciting doors. If she could get Harry Potter on her side…

But she was certainly getting ahead of herself. There was more to learn before a decision could be made.

"I need my books for summer work, Uncle," Harry said quietly. "I could be kicked out if those assignments aren't completed. And my kind like to erase memories."

Rita heard a muffled snort of outrage. "F-Fine! Only the books and paper, nothing else! And you will only do them at night!"

She got the feeling that, behind whatever mask Potter donned, he was smirking on the inside. And so was she. "Of course, Uncle."

It was mostly silent after that, except for the angry mutterings of the large muggle and the occasional honk. She stiffened as a faint field of magic passed over her, her senses in beetle form tripled. Whatever ward had passed over her, it was either very weak, or didn't consider her a threat.

The car came to a stop a second later, and Rita hung on as they began to move again. There was a series of clunks as a trunk was dragged across cement and an annoyed squawk from a roughly-handled owl, then the click of a key in a lock. The fat muggle grumbled under his breath as he unlocked the cupboard under the stairs and shoved Harry's trunk inside, watching warily as the raven-haired boy retrieved a pair of leather-bound tomes before slamming the door and locking it. Then, he waved Harry upstairs and stomped off to the kitchen, where a younger male began to whine.

Harry rolled his eyes and carefully carried Hedwig to his room, quickly letting her out of her cage. "Back in prison," he mumbled, stroking her head and letting her nibble on his finger. "You get some freedom at least, Hedwig. Wish I could hop on my broom and fly out of here."

He sighed, sitting at his rickety, piece-meal desk and began to scratch out a pair of letters that he tied to his owl's leg and sent off. Rita took the chance to escape from his clothes and sequestered herself in a half-open drawer full of scraps of paper. Making herself comfortable, she settled in to wait and observe. It wasn't her first stakeout, and a beetle had a much smaller stomach than a human, obviously. And a less demanding palate.

…

It was the middle of the night, and besides watching a twelve-year-old read a book and sneaking a few scraps of bread off his plate, nothing much had happened. A soft rustle woke her from her doze and she peeked out of the drawer to see Harry quietly opening his door. With a low buzz, Rita took flight and latched onto the back of his shirt as he crept down the stairs with admirable stealth and knelt in front of the cupboard under the stairs, withdrawing a slightly bent bobby pin from his pocket.

She watched as he picked the lock and pulled the door open, opening his trunk and withdrawing his wand and a few odds and ends. Mostly candy and a few inkpots, but she spotted the silvery sheen of an invisibility cloak tucked under crumpled robes.

Harry Potter just got more and more interesting.

He paused, casting a solemn look at the interior of the cupboard and making a sound of surprise. Reaching down, he grabbed a small, battered tin soldier and held up. "I thought I lost this," he whispered, smiling as he tucked it away and locked the cupboard.

Rita rode his back up the stairs and into his room, fluttering off back to the drawer. Harry stiffened, glancing around furtively. After a few seconds, he closed his door securely and popped a loose floorboard underneath his bed, storing his nicked goods away.

The intrepid reporter smiled to herself as she settled into a nest made of paper. Who knew what juicy stories tomorrow would bring?

…

A week passed, and in that time Rita had learned much about Harry Potter and the family he lived with. They were called the Dursley's, and apparently the Aunt was Lily Potter's sister. Not that one could tell by looking at her. Where Lily had been full-figured and fiery, Petunia Dursley was rail-thin and contemptuous. And also rather bitchy.

The older, fat muggle was Vernon Dursley, Petunia's husband and a giant asshole, in her entirely professional opinion. Seemingly devoted to normalcy, to the point of being a bit obsessive and dare she say, freakish.

And the youngest fat muggle was Dudley Dursley, the result of a radical attempt to crossbreed a pig and whale, with some human thrown in as an afterthought.

She had learned that they were abusive, if not physically, then definitely emotionally. And no twelve year old wizard should be that small.

Not only that, but Harry Potter, the bloody Boy-Who-Lived, had slept and several times had been locked inside the cupboard under the stairs for the first ten years of his life, and was also bullied and ostracized by his cousin and his gang of friends.

It really was a prison, and it surprised Rita. Dumbledore projected an image of grandfatherly benevolence, but if his adoring public found about this…he would be ruined, or at least set on the road to it. It was perfect.

But it could be better.

In her observations, Rita had noticed that, although Harry definitely looked up to Albus Dumbledore, he was also frustrated with the man and rightly so. Learning the facts of his life had infuriated Rita, something that had taken her by surprise. She was so used to not caring about anyone that the instinct to curse the Dursley's into slugs had nearly overwhelmed her.

But, then again, she too had been bullied and stepped on all her childhood as well, and she could sympathize. It just took learning about it first hand to bring those feelings back.

And with what she knew about Dumbledore and Harry, she knew there was an opportunity to drive a wedge between them. And she was going to act on it tonight.

One thing that had made her rub her hands together in glee was that Harry Potter…was sneaky. Not just by being quiet or occasionally picking the cupboard lock or nicking extra food in the dead of night, but by the way he would subtly manipulate his relatives. All he had to do was _imply_ something magical would happen; not even a bad thing, and they would jump in fear and do what he wanted. Harry used it to get a few more freedoms, but given how he should've had them in the first place, it was more like balancing the scales.

And if there was something Rita could appreciate, it was sneakiness. Or being Slytherin, as the idiots called it. As if Slytherins were the only ones who could be duplicitous. _Right_. Like arseholes didn't exist outside of one house.

She waited until it was the dead of night, crawling out of her nest and taking flight, shifting back to human mid-air and landing with a silent step. To the half-asleep Harry on his bed, it seemed as if a garishly-clothed woman appeared out of thin air. He scrambled for his wand hidden under his pillow, opening his mouth to shout when she nearly dived on him, pinning his arm down with a hand while the other clamped his lips shut.

"Shh, I'm not going to hurt you!" she hissed, realizing that holding him down in that position was pretty threatening, "Stop struggling, I'm a friend!" And it wasn't like he could struggle away, she was an adult and an experienced witch, he was a scrawny, short-arse pre-teen. Emerald green eyes narrowed at her, and Rita felt his tongue poke out of his lips and lick her hand. "That doesn't work on me, I'm an adult."

He glared at her, mumbling something into her hand. It sounded vaguely like, 'why should I trust you?'

Rita rolled her eyes. "Kid, I've been watching you for a week, I could've hurt you at any time."

His eyes went wide and he slapped at the hand over his mouth. "That was you?!" Harry whisper-shouted, and she pressed a finger to her lips.

"Ssh! You want your uncle to bull in here?" She brandished her wand and felt him tense. "Look, I'm just going to cast a silencing charm, that's all." With a pair of quick flicks, a muted tingle ran over their skin. "There, all good."

"Who are you?" Harry demanded immediately, his eyes flicking to the window. "How'd you get in here? How'd you appear like that? What-"

"Steady on!" Rita threw up a hand to stop him. "One at a time, please. And it's only polite to offer a lady a seat, you know."

He glared at her. "If you've been here a week, you'd know _that,_ " he pointed at the three-legged chair by his rickety desk, "Is the only seat."

She eyed it distastefully. "Right," with a flick of her wand, the chair was transfigured into a plush leather armchair, which she flopped on with a happy sigh. She saw Harry looking at it in amazement and a bit of envy, glancing at the window in surprise. Deciding a little comfort would go a long way to making him open up, Rita flicked her wand again, the lumpy mattress underneath him transforming into a bed just as soft as the ones at Hogwarts.

He pushed on it gently, as if trying to determine that it was, in fact, real. Seeing that it was, Harry nodded to himself and fixed his eyes on the brightly-clothed woman, but not before looking at the window again. "Who are you?"

Rita grinned widely. "I am Rita Skeeter, intrepid reporter and deflater of egos! You read the Daily Prophet?" Harry shook his head. "Oh. Well, I write up the dirty secrets of the Wizarding World in columns for them and get paid rather handsomely. It's poetic justice, really."

"So, you're like a Private Investigator?" he offered slowly.

She thought for a second. "...Kinda. As for I how got in here, I hid myself in your shirt at King's Crossing, and as for how I did _that_ …" Her form melted, writhing and becoming that of a beetle. Harry gaped at her, and she chirped at him in amusement. She took her human form, feeling smug at having shocked him like that.

"…Wicked," he breathed, before thinking. "You're like McGonagall, then?"

Rita grinned again. "Yup!" She said, popping the 'p' cheerfully. "It's called being an Animagus. Very difficult, but dead useful. No one besides you knows that I can do that, so let's keep that our little secret, okay?"

Harry pinked at the wink she sent him, but cleared his throat and focused. "Why have you been watching me, though?" He glanced at his small room filled with second-hand everything. "I'm not the most interesting person."

She held up a finger. "That's where I beg to differ, dear Harry." Her smile became almost predatory. "See, you're the most interesting person I've seen in a long time. Not just because you're the Boy-Who-Lived, but because _you're not._ "

"What does that mean?" Harry didn't if he should be insulted or not. On one hand, it was a pretty stupid title, and on the other…he did survive Voldemort attacking him as a baby. And the last two years.

"You don't know it, but you have quite a reputation, Mr. Potter," Her eyes gleamed as she sat back and tented her fingers. "A child, not even out of diapers, somehow survives an unsurvivable curse and destroys a Dark Lord in the process, then vanishes into thin air. It leaves quite a gap for all sorts of theories and rumours to spring up like weeds; if you don't catch them quick and tear them up by the root, they'll overtake everything. For instance, it's well known that you grew up in a magical castle that was basically Hogwarts but shinier and were taught advanced, forgotten magic by Merlin himself."

He gave her a flat look, then sent pointed glances at his room. "Obviously not," The sarcasm was thick enough to cut with a butter knife.

Rita rolled her eyes. "Yes, obvious to me and anyone with half a brain, but as a wise man once said, never underestimate the power of stupid people in large groups. You never gave an interview or a press release, and never answered any of the letter people sent you, so most think you're some kind of aloof, sloppily-dressed prodigy of some sort." She held up a hand to forestall the incoming rant. "Again, obvious to anyone with some sense. Which isn't a lot of people, mind you."

"How would I give an interview? I'm twelve!" Harry protested, crossing his arms grumpily. "And I don't even know what a press release is. And the only letter I got before Hogwarts _was_ the Hogwarts letter."

The nosy bitch hummed thoughtfully, tapping her chin with a long, acid-green nail. "Interesting…" She shook her head and refocused, giving him a slightly predatory grin. "As for the rest, well, that's where I come in. After all, I am Rita Skeeter, intrepid reporter. I can help you with the interview and press release. Though, given your age, I doubt the second will be necessary."

Bright green eyes narrowed on her as Harry sat up, his gaze piercing. "What would you get out of this?" He asked softly. "Why do you want to help me?"

Her face softened, her smile becoming kind. "Believe it or not, you and I are a lot alike. I've watched how you act, how sneaky you are…and I know what it's like to be stepped on, to hide inside of yourself and try to be beneath notice. To reflect what others want to see and bury what's real." Rita sighed quietly, reaching up and removing her glasses. The color of her bright blonde hair began to fade until it was closer to brown; her jaw became a little less square, her cheeks a little more round, and her red lips became their natural pink.

Harry blinked slowly, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that she knew so much of what he hid, and the significance of the gesture. _She wants me to trust her, that much is obvious, but to what end, and why?_ He thought back. _Besides Hermione, Ron, most of the Weasleys, Hagrid and sometimes Professor Dumbledore, I don't really have any friends. Actually, only Hermione, Ron, the Twins and Hagrid are_ really _my friends. Would it hurt to have one more?_

"What was that?" He asked, waving at her rather tacky, gem-set horned glasses, his eyes flicking to the window once more.

Rita glanced at the view of empty night sky, wondering what was attention-grabbing about the slightly-fogged glass panes. "This is my face, my true face," she replied, "and, until now, the only other person who knows what I actually look like was me. A few cosmetic charms tied to the stones in my glasses and boom, everyone sees Rita Skeeter, acid-quilled muckraker. Without them, though, I'm just Rita, nobody in particular. Like a reverse Clark Kent."

Harry tilted his head quizzically, wondering who she was referencing. "Why?"

"Well, now you know something about me that no one else does, just like me," Rita shrugged, setting her glasses on his desk and rubbing her eyes, "And I see something in you, that reminds me of myself. If the Wizarding World and all it's ass-backward thinking doesn't try to stamp it out of you, _you_ would, eventually. I want to help you become all that you can be," she said with as much honesty as she could muster. "And yes, helping you would help me, but that's simply a bonus."

"So…you want to be my friend?" he offered tentatively.

"Friend, mentor, confidant or just someone you trust, yes," she agreed with a nod, "I can help you, and I'm not asking for your soul or money or the like. I don't want to see another unique person ground down by the world we live in."

Harry stared at her in silence, his emerald eyes almost seeming to pierce right through her. To Rita's surprise, it actually made her shift uncomfortably—and she'd stared down known Death Eaters!

"Alright," he finally said, breaking the tense atmosphere. "What are we going to do?"

Rita smiled, feeling herself fully relax at his acceptance, cautious as it was. "Well, first, we're going to sleep, because it's about two o'clock in the morning. But, first thing tomorrow, I'll deal with your…relatives, and then we're going to Diagon Alley. There's something we need to do to get you started." She stated with a wink.

"Okay, but what?" he asked, glancing at his room. "And where am I going to sleep? My bed isn't that big."

A quiet chuckle bubbled out of her mouth. "Why, you little Casanova, we just met and you're already trying to get me into your bed?" At his mortified look, she had to bite her hand to muffle her laughter. "I'm going to sleep on this chair; I've certainly slept in worse places before. And as for tomorrow, well, that's a surprise, but I will tell you this: there are some _things_ Gringotts can do that no one knows about." She tapped her nose and smirked.

"Oh," he said, pulling the thick quilt that was once his ratty blanket over his thin frame. Cocooned comfortably, with his luminous green eyes peering at her, he very much resembled a young owl with messy hair. "Goodnight, Ms. Skeeter," he said softly.

She smiled softly, pulling her yellow jacket off and transfiguring it into a warm fleece blanket with a silent swish of her wand. Harry noted with some amusement that it had a beetle on a leaf pattern, though his eyes once more flickered to the window. "Call me Rita, Harry," she admonished softly. "And what is so damn enthralling about the window?"

Harry blushed slightly. "Oh, well, uh, last year a house elf cast a Hover Charm on my Aunt's pudding, and I got a warning from the Ministry."

Rita tapped her chin thoughtfully, withdrawing a small leather-bound notebook and jotting down ' _House elves can mimic Magical Signatures? Investigate further.'_ "Well, I would say he mimicked your Magical Signature, and since the Trace on your wand is attuned to it, it registered as you casting it." She shrugged. "I'll look into that some more later. Goodnight, Harry."

He hummed quietly, rolling over under his blankets and facing the wall, falling asleep quickly. Rita made herself comfortable and lay back, closing her eyes only to open them a second later as Harry's Snowy Owl, Hedwig, fluttered through the gap in the window and alighted on her stand. She glared down at the reporter with startlingly intelligent amber eyes, as if accusing her of something.

"I'm not going to hurt him," she said quietly, reaching hand out to the owl, "I really _do_ want to help him."

Hedwig tilted her head, gazing at her curiously, before lightly nibbling Rita's fingers. With that done, she tucked her head under a wing and fell asleep, and the human followed soon after.

…

The next morning began with a scream. More a screech of surprise really, but that was Petunia's normal tone of voice, don't judge.

She'd been awake for two hours, preparing breakfast for the men in her life, although with gritted teeth. They'd gotten so used to the boy making their meals that when he'd left for his… _school_ it took her a while to get back into the flow of things; and while she found the activity somewhat relaxing, she liked being served more. Not at dinner, though; the satisfaction on the faces of her loving husband and darling child when she put dinner on the table were reserved for _her_ and her alone.

But, being that it was summer, she expected the boy to _at least_ pick up some of the slack! If not with the meals, then general housekeeping; but it was nearly ten and he still hadn't risen. Clapping flour from her hands and sliding the last golden griddle cake onto a platter loaded to bear, the long-necked woman brushed down her apron and marched up the stairs with purpose in her steps and vinegar in her veins.

Raising a bony fist, she debated on whether she should just throw the door open and catch the boy while he was asleep, give him a good scare. That would fix his attitude!

With her decision made, Petunia gripped the doorknob and through the door open, a screech on her lips that turned to one of surprise as her eyes took in the suddenly very-expensive bed, a similar red leather armchair, and the figure of a woman sleeping in said chair. She had light brown hair in soft curls that spread out behind her head, her mouth open as she snored.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS THIS?!" In any other situation, the way Harry and Rita and bolted up would've been comical, and it still kind of was. Petunia drew in another breath and opened her mouth to shout, only to find herself going stiff and toppling over like a statue, her eyes being the only thing free to move.

"PETUNIA!" Vernon shouted, nearly crashing through his bedroom door and charging down the hall like a pale rhino with a mustache and a weight problem. A wild-eyed Rita stepped into the hallway and spotted him, letting loose a surprisingly girly squeal, reflexively tagging the large muggle with a Stunner and skipping back out of the way. With his momentum built but not supported, the unconscious Vernon hit the carpet with a thump, sliding on top of it until he hit his wife's petrified form with a hollow thunk.

Rita, her hair messy and eyes wide, wand held in front of her like a sword, stepped out next to the two muggles and poked them with her shoe. Satisfied that they were taken care of, she loosed a kick into Vernon's side. "You bloody _fucking_ arseholes! Whose bright idea was it to scream at the top of their lungs to wake someone up, you shite-eared cock-gobblers?! Don't you know? Never wake a sleeping witch, ESPECIALLY by SCREAMING at them!"

Breathing heavily, she wiped her forehead and tried to calm herself down, only for the door behind her to creak open and a sleepy Dudley to emerge, rubbing his eyes. "Mum, Dad? What's going-?" he hit the ground a second later as the red-lit spell impacted his face.

"I! DO NOT! LIKE! BEING SURPRISED!" she shrieked hysterically. Panting, Rita leaned against the wall and tried to calm her racing heart. Harry peered out of his room, looking from his petrified aunt to his Stunned uncle and cousin, to the sheepish Rita, who was rapidly flushing with embarrassment.

Instead of shouting, Harry simply glanced at his relatives again and chuckled quietly. "Wicked," he murmured, poking Vernon's head with a toe. "What spell was that?"

"It's the Stunning spell, knocks the target unconscious if it hits," She explained, feeling her pulse settle into something approaching a normal rhythm. "It lasts a couple of hours, or until someone hits them with an _Ennervate,_ the Reviving Spell. I think you'd learn about them third or fourth year, the curriculum might've changed."

"Huh," Harry said, glancing up at her searchingly. "You know more of these kind of spells?"

Rita grinned proudly. "Oh, I know a damned depth of hexes, jinxes and curses. And I will, of course, teach them all to you. Along with one specific field that, if I bothered to try, I could get a Mastery in," She waved, flicked and swished her wand like a conductor's baton, transfiguring the Dursley family into a trio of ordinary black beetles, then conjuring a glass environment and a stick inside. "Transfiguration!"

"Wow," the last Potter enthused quietly, poking the fat beetle that had once been his cousin. "I think Uncle has got to go to work, soon. It might be suspicious if he doesn't show."

She sighed, levitating Vernon-beetle out of the cage and canceling the transfiguration, drawing lines in the air over his unconscious figure, light sparkles drifting down atop him. "Confounding and Compulsion Spells, so he won't be such a twat, or tell anyone about all the magic." She hit him with a white beam and Vernon sluggishly got to his feet, groaning and rubbing his face.

"Oh blimey, what hit me?" He muttered, before looking down at his watch. "Egads, I'm going to be late for work! Excuse me Harry, I've got to be going." That said, he walked passed them and headed down the stairs, muttering to himself.

Harry gave Rita a curious look. "Do you smell something tasty?"

The intrepid reporter sniffed the air. "Ooh, yes I do. What say we get some breakfast before we head out for the day? Your Aunt and Cousin will be fine for the day, right?" She stretched and yawned, trotting downstairs.

Vernon passed them with a pair of pancakes in his mouth, giving a muffled apology as he pulled on his coat and hat and grabbed his keys, exiting the house quietly. Harry stared after him, the politeness from his typically abrasive Uncle beyond weird.

They entered the kitchen to find a nice spread on the table, with coffee, orange juice and milk sitting next to jam and syrup, with the center of the table being a large platter loaded with pancakes, still slightly steaming. "Jesus Tapdancing Christ," Rita gasped, "Who the hell is she trying to feed, the fucking SAS?"

It was a bit of an exaggeration, but not by much. "She usually makes this much. Well, I did, for the most part. You'd be surprised at how much Dudley could hoover up, I think he's almost the weight of a small whale, now," Harry replied with a shrug, plating pancakes for both of them and taking a seat.

Rita's eyes ran over his thin frame with a frown. "Bet you only got scraps of that, huh?" she asked sardonically, stuffing a bite in her mouth.

Harry only shrugged and tucked in, finishing off three cakes before taking his plate up. "So, you said we'd start by going to Gringotts, but how are we going to get there?" He waved a hand at the front door. "Uncle Vernon took the car and I don't know where the keys are for the other one. Also, I can't drive. Can you?"

She bobbled her head noncommittally. "Sort of, but not very well. But don't worry, we won't be driving to Diagon Alley, we'll be catching a ride." She smirked mischievously before glancing down at the remaining crumbs of breakfast. "Actually, we should wait until the food's settled before catching it. It can get a little…bumpy. You should grab whatever money you've got in your trunk and your vault key, you'll need it."

"Okay," Harry nodded, drawing his trusty bobby pin and picking the lock on the cupboard in a few seconds. "I've got ten Galleons, forty-something Sickles and twenty Knuts. Mrs. Weasley still has my key, though."

Rita stiffened. "What?" she asked lowly.

The last Potter looked at her in surprise. "What? I trust the Weasleys, they've been good to me," he said defensively.

The frequent interloper clapped a hand to her face with a loud groan. "Harry…you _never_ just 'let' someone hold on to your Vault Key! Any funds withdrawn from your Vault with _your_ Key would register as if you'd done it yourself! You pretty much gave them carte blanche to legally steal from you!" she explained, "And not to mention that would give them access to the Potter Family Vault and whatever heirlooms are in there!"

Harry paled, but his expression didn't change. "I trust them," he stated resolutely, crossing his arms, "They wouldn't do something like that."

Rita gave him an exasperated look, throwing up her hands. "Fine! Believe what you want, but you'll see when we get to Gringotts and get you a new key. It's a good thing you told me about this now, before the Goblins found out. They'd fine your ears off for that." She quickly went back upstairs, canceling the spell on her blanket/jacket, then charming it to look like a plain red robe and pulled it on, doing the same to the rest of her clothes and glasses. Without her charmed glasses and her and her usual hairstyle, no one would connect her to Rita Skeeter.

That was because wizards rarely, if ever, questioned what they saw on the surface. The ones who did were usually Muggleborn or became Unspeakables. Usually both. They fit in a lot better there, all hooded and shadowy and silent.

Rita looked down at the beetles slowly crawling around on the stick, a grimace on her face. With a long suffering sigh, she canceled her spells and petrified both muggles before they could speak. "I _should_ leave you in the terrarium. You're the type muggles Voldemort built his forces on, abusing a hero of the Wizarding World and a child, no less! Still, I'm not him or his ilk, so I won't curse you, just Confound and Compel you to not be such massive dicks," She conducted a series of charms as she described before lifting the petrification.

Petunia looked around with glazed eyes, rubbing her face. "Oh, my word! I must look quite a sight! I'm sorry, dear, for this morning, but you took me by surprise. I'll just kip down to the kitchen and clean up, shall I? I feel the need for a strong cuppa." She gasped upon catching sight of Dudley. "Dudley! Go get dressed at once, young man! It's far too late in the morning to be wearing pyjamas, and I believe you have summer work to do. I'll get started on a nice, healthy breakfast for you."

"Okay, Mum," Dudley muttered dully marching to his room like a zombie.

Rita snickered at her handiwork. "Harry and I are going to pop down to Diagon Alley in a bit," she tested.

"Have a wonderful time, dear! Do you need any money for a cab fare? I know my purse is around here somewhere…" Petunia fussed as she searched her room for her purse.

"No, Mrs. Dursley, we'll be fine," Rita smiled, her eyes lidded. "I did see some very unhealthy food in your kitchen, though."

The thin woman gasped theatrically. "My word, you're right! I don't know what I was thinking, buying such rubbish. I need to do some cleaning, dear, if you'll excuse me." She scurried off in a hurry, leaving the reporter to chuckle darkly. An unfortunate side-effect of Compulsion charms were that the target felt good following orders, so by the time it faded, they still felt it. It would take quite a few days for it to permanently set, but when they did, the Dursley's would be the very model of an English family. Perfectly normal.

She would've felt bad for basically brainwashing them if they hadn't been massive pricks in the first place. As it was, she saw it as karma.

Rita walked down the steps as Harry emerged from the kitchen looking massively confused. It was a cute look, she decided, hiding a giggle behind her hand, which actually surprised her. Rita Skeeter rarely, if ever, giggled for real, typically giving a screechy cackle. It felt good to actually mean it. "What's with that face, Harry?"

He vaguely pointed over his shoulder at the kitchen door. "Aunt…Petunia…" Harry scratched at the back of his neck, nonplussed. "She fussed over me…said she was going to buy me some clothes today. It was…extremely weird."

Her face went blank. "That's how she should've been treating you from the beginning," she muttered darkly, eyeing his clothes critically. "And we do need you to get some appropriate clothes, a few plain robes if nothing else. Until then, a quick transfiguration will have to do." With that said, Rita spelled his clothes into plain black robes and stepped out with her wand in hand.

"Have a good day, dears!" Petunia called from the kitchen, making the reporter grin and Harry get another odd look on his face.

They walked to curb and Rita grasped his shoulder, pointing her wand at the sky with her right hand. "What are you doing?" Harry asked cautiously, keeping his eyes out for nosy neighbors.

"Calling our ride," she replied with a knowing smirk. He opened his mouth the again ask what it was, or if she was crazy, but a loud crack and a purple double-decker bus appearing out of nowhere made him choke. Written along the sides in flowing silver script was _The Knight Bus_. "This, is the Knight Bus, Harry," Rita announced grandly as the doors slid open and pimply-faced teenager bounced out.

"We'come to the Knight Bus, providin' 'mergency transportashun fo' the strandid witch or wiz'rd," he proclaimed with a thick accent that neither could place, and which gave the author fits for having to spell out his horrendous elocution, "It's eleven sickles per p'rson, firteen if you wan' hot choc'late."

Rita flicked a Galleon at him, followed by five sickles. "We're going to Diagon Alley," she said, leading Harry up the steps and taking the first open seats she saw, though there were quite a few. Very rarely did anyone ride the Knight Bus more often than they really, really had to. Rita just happened to be one who enjoyed it very much, thanks to pleasant experiences on muggle Roller Coasters.

"Yo'r forf in line," the pimply teen replied, tearing off a pair of tickets and handing it to them.

The reporter nodded and gripped a handrail tightly, turning to a confused Harry with a smile. "You should grab onto to something," she chuckled lightly.

"Wait, why-?" Was all he managed before the bus shot forward with a bang and he threw his arms around the closest thing. That being Rita. He hugged himself to her tightly, gritting his teeth under the forces pushing down on him, his subconscious noting that she was pleasantly soft and comfortable to squeeze.

That part was ignored for a mixture of adrenaline at going really goddamn fast and fear for suddenly going really goddamn fast. Harry could hear (and feel, again with his arms wrapped around her warm, soft body) Rita chuckling and whooping quietly in enjoyment, and debated on whether or not he should hex her after the ride was over, before realizing he only knew a few schoolyard jinxes.

On her end, Rita found it to be nice, being held tightly, even if it was mostly out surprise and reflex. Without her usual eye-catching features and clothing, she was free to laugh and have fun from the speed and at Harry's expense. Rita Skeeter wouldn't have been caught dead laughing out loud, unless it was to draw attention, pretend she agreed with whatever an idiot thought was clever or make someone uncomfortable.

She liked it. It was freeing.

The bus screeched to a stop and the pimply teen hopped up the spiral stairs to retrieve a passenger, while Harry dizzily disengaged from Rita, blushing furiously. "Sorry…" He muttered, looking away and rubbing his neck.

"Sorry for what?" Rita chortled as a green-faced man stumbled down the steps and off the bus, kneeling on the ground and cursing audibly. She threw her arm around Harry, her smile wide. "There are still three more stops before ours, remember?"

Harry's eyes went wide. "Oh yeah-"

His reflexes kicked in and he grabbed her again as the bus took off, and with her arm around him, Harry found most of his face buried against the left side of her chest. It wasn't a bad position, mind, but the buttons on her robe were digging into his ear. And when they stopped three more times, he knocked his forehead against her collarbone, not painfully, though.

"Diagon All'y!" the conductor cried, waving as Rita helped a stumbling Harry off of the bus and let him lean against an alley wall. The Knight Bus vanished with a crack, leaving them standing outside of the dingy-looking Leaky Cauldron, the last Potter wishing his roiling stomach would make up it's damn mind about vomiting or not. A warm hand stroking his back helped his gut settle and gave him the strength to glare up at her.

Harry was just full of surprises, because the look actually made her feel sheepish. "Sorry," she shrugged. "You haven't thrown up, unlike the first time I rode it, so you've got that going for you. And you have to admit, it was fun."

He kept up the glare a few seconds later, then broke and chuckled. "Yeah, it was kinda fun," he admitted, standing up and stretching, "I think I'm better now. To Diagon Alley?"

"To Diagon Alley," Rita agreed, offering her arm. Harry took it without hesitation, letting her take the lead into the pub, part of him wondering why he was so comfortable around her. Maybe because she'd been watching him for a week, and he'd accepted her presence unconsciously? They'd slept within five feet of each other after she revealed herself, something that normally wouldn't have happened to anyone. Or maybe it was hard not to feel comfortable with someone after you'd had your face mashed up against their boob?

 _Or,_ a quiet part of him chimed in, _it's because you're similar, and you recognize it._ Time would tell if she was genuine about helping him, but she seemed to be so far.

Rita hurried them passed the bar with only a cursory wave to Tom, leading Harry into the rubbish-lined alley in the back. She tapped a certain pattern (it was a circle) in certain bricks (they were directly in front of the back door at head-height), and the entryway folded open. "Welcome, Harry, to Diagon Alley!" She announced grandly, the bustling midday shopping crowd ignoring them.

He gave her a strange look, like he was wondering if she had suddenly become stupid. "I've been here before, you know," Harry said slowly. "Two times."

"I know, I just wanted to be dramatic," Rita said with a smile and a shrug, leading him down the Alley to the large, white marble building that was Gringotts bank. The armored, spear-wielding guards only acknowledged them with a split-second glance before they were in the door and walking up to a free teller. "Afternoon, we're here to retrieve this young man's key and also get an accounting of his family's holdings. _And get him_ _ **examined**_." She whispered the last part.

The beady-eyed short-arse at the desk looked down at them, his eyes focusing on Harry's scar and emerald eyes. Without a word, he grabbed what looked like an unmarked metal plate, like one used to carve names on, tapping in a random code with his clawed fingers. Within a minute, another goblin, this one with longer hair pulled back into a ponytail and wearing what would've been considered the height of fashion in Victorian England.

He waved for them to follow and strode away, his rapid pace giving the two taller humans a little trouble with keeping up. He lead them in what seemed to be several circles before pushing open a large golden door with some family's crest on it, a shield with crossed wands and a stag rearing in front of those. The goblin motioned for them to take a seat at one end of a round table while he sat at the other.

"You are Harry Potter?" he asked, his tone promising violence. At Harry's nod, the goblin passed a ledger and black quill over to him. "Verify."

Harry looked to Rita, who nodded. He reached out and took the quill, signing his name on the line at the bottom of the parchment, gasping quietly in pain as the letters were carved into the back of his hand, before they quickly healed.

The goblin reached over and plucked both ledger and quill from Harry, gazing deeply into the signature as it glowed gold. As the light faded, he sighed and absently ripped the page out, tossing it over his shoulder, where it caught fire and dispersed without any ashes.

Then, he opened his eyes wide, glaring fiercely at Harry. He stood up on his chair and slammed his hands on the surface of the table, rattling the whole thing. "It's about **fucking** _time!_ "

…

…

…

…

 **A/N: And here you go, my first Harry Potter story in a long time. It's one of the few 'new' stories I'll be putting out soon, as well as a poll for which one you want to see done. So, if you want to see more of this story, remember to vote.**

 **Anyway, this story comes as the result of the rather stagnant characterization of Rita Skeeter in most fanworks. For a place with the tagline, 'Unleash your imagination', people on FF can be really unimaginative. It's rare that I see Rita as anything other than a massive greedy bitch who stabs everyone in the back at the most opportune moment. Or, if the MC is particularly 'amazingly handsome every woman wants him' type deal, a horrid abhorrent admirer that is just so ugly you guys.**

 **Well, I call bullshit. I've seen more fics were Umbridge is a good guy than Rita Skeeter,** _ **fucking**_ **Umbridge,** _**you guys,**_ **so I declared No More! I'm going to write a story where Rita Skeeter is, well, not particularly a good guy, but someone that Harry can trust and rely on, and in the process, maybe give you guys a unique story. For the most part, anyway.**

 **The first part of the story will be just Harry and Rita, hanging out and having fun over the summer, learning about magic and each other, respectively, and since she is going to be his mentor, expect Harry's Slytherin traits to get more screen time. I mean seriously, his most useful items in the whole series were his invisibility cloak, a map that can see everyone in Hogwarts, which is some 1984 shit, and his rampant nosiness. Sneaky and Nosy. Sounds kinda like an investigator, yeah?**

 **Like, some kind of journalist, maybe?**

 **It's not my intent to see Harry overpower and dominate the world as the beacon of light and hope and all that bullshit, but more to learn the powers of misdirection, information and blackmail.**

 **It's gonna be good.**

 **Anyways, hope you enjoyed and remember to vote on that poll. Thanks as always to NorthSouthGorem and Kurogane7 for editing and shit and myself, for also being there.**

 **Stay Awesome.**

 **~Soleneus**

 **P.S. As for pairings, I'm going to be controversial and say there's not going to be a set one. Too many stories have Harry date one person, then declare they're in love for life even though they're still teens. That shit is so unrealistic, I swear. I know of only one couple,** _ **one**_ **who married when they got out of high school who are still together today. It is rare.**

 **So, Harry's going to date around. Not seriously, and maybe a bit seriously later. Expect appearances by Susan Bones, Lavender and Parvati, Katie, maybe Luna, definitely Hermione. And that's just Third year.**

 **Stay Awesome Some More.**

 **~still Soleneus**


	2. My, What Large Investments You Have!

Harry jumped at the sudden bang, and Rita did as well, even though she'd been watching the goblin closely. The goblin huffed and straightened his coat, glaring heatedly at the twelve year-old wizard. "Are you aware of just how _long_ we've been waiting for you to request an accounting, you little shit?" He snarled, baring needle-like teeth. "Two fiscal years! _Two!_ Unless you have a _very_ good reason for not replying to our letters, I will _fine your ears_ _ **pointy!**_ "

"I didn't…know?" Harry offered weakly. Rita tensed as the goblin threw his hands up in frustration.

"Didn't _know?_ _Didn't_ _ **know?!**_ Are you _stupid_? Were you raised by _muggles_?" He growled, only for his head of steam to audibly deflate when the last Potter nodded. "What? Really? Did they at least tell you about your responsibilities?"

Harry shook his head slowly. "They did their best to make sure I didn't know anything about magic before Hogwarts. They even ran away when my letters-"

The goblin waved sharply. "I don't care about your problems." he ran clawed fingers through his stringy black hair and sighed. "You haven't been shocked, so you're telling the truth, which means the Ignorance clause is in effect and the fault lies with your wizarding guardian. But, I left outstanding orders that you were to be brought directly to me the instant you walked in those doors. Tell me, do you remember who brought you to your vaults?"

Harry felt his exasperation with the goblin growing, but sighed as Rita put an understanding hand on his arm and cast his mind back. "It was only the one vault, and wouldn't you rather know the name of the teller?"

The goblin arched a thin eyebrow at him. "Do you _remember_ the name of the teller?" At Harry's negative head-shake, he snapped his fingers. "That's because tellers are not allowed to give out their names while they're behind the desk. Now, who brought you to your vault?"

Rita watched Harry think, his eyes scrunching in a manner she found most cute, like a pug trying to figure out if a table leg was edible. "G-Grip? Griff-Griphook!" He finally remembered, pointing a finger in the air triumphantly. The woman in the room had to refrain from chuckling.

The goblin blinked silently. "…Ah," he finally murmured, leaning back in his chair. Lifting a hand, he snapped his fingers twice. The doors were pulled open slightly, another goblin peeking in. "Find Griphook and congratulate him on keeping a bribe hidden from me. Then give my son fifty lashes for ignoring my orders."

The other goblin nodded and disappeared, closing the doors. Harry turned to Rita and mouthed, 'Lashes?' She shook her head shortly. "Don't ask, you don't wanna know," she whispered.

The goblin sat up, brushing non-existent dust from his lapels before turning to Harry. "Now that's out of the way, allow me to introduce myself: I am the Potter Family Account Manager, Guthook. And _you_ , Mister Potter, have some business to take care of." His grinned widely, needle-like teeth glinting in the light.

"Such as…?" Harry asked cautiously.

"Well…" Guthook flipped open a ledger, dragging a long nail down the page. "Twenty-seven unclaimed bounty payments for the defeat of one 'Lord Voldemort', one-hundred and fifty-three marriage offers, fourteen unsigned book deals, one standard vault full of unclaimed birthday presents, one standard vault full of unclaimed Christmas presents, _two_ vaults of Halloween candy and alcoholic beverages, and two _Deluxe_ Vaults of fan-mail, thank-you notes, and hate-letters."

Rita whistled quietly as Harry clapped hand to his head in shock. "Bloody hell," he muttered, rubbing his face. "Why did no one ever tell me about this?"

"Probably because humans are morons," Guthook replied dryly, setting the ledger down and folding his hands. "Now, before you leave today, you must take ownership of all the occupied vaults, and the contents within and _get them out of_ _ **here**_ **.** If there is one thing I hate more than wasted time and gold, it's wasted space."

Rita stiffened, licking her lips nervously. There was a very good reason the Goblins 'lost' the last rebellion, and it wasn't because they were overpowered or outgunned; it was because they preferred to be underestimated and looked down on. Those were the ones who were best undercutting people, after all. And they'd turned that practice into an artform.

They weren't someone you made an enemy of, and it was _very_ hard to make them into allies. "Alright," the last Potter agreed, nodding slowly. "Is there somewhere I can have them sent to look through them later? If we stay here to go through them, I don't think we'd be done until tomorrow."

"We _have_ been trying to send them to your place of residence, but they only reappear here," Guthook said, his face twisting in irritation. "Now, you said you desired an Accounting of your family's holdings, yes? And an… _examination_ , as well. The latter is rather expensive, but easily covered by the bounties you received and even brings the gold back into circulation."

The goblin lifted his ledger and slammed it on the table, pulling the book up to reveal a copy sitting underneath it, which he slid across to them. He arched an eyebrow at Rita picking the ledger up and holding it with Harry, but shook his head and read the contents aloud.

"One small vault for school and general purchases, containing one hundred galleons, four hundred sickles and four hundred knuts, refilling bi-annually from the main vault. The main vault, The Potter Family Vault, contains two hundred thousand galleons, one hundred and fifty thousand sickles, and one hundred knuts, sorted into separate piles. As well, it contains one hundred and fifty books of varying age and rarity, heirlooms in the form of clothes, wands and weapons, and all goblin-made items have been rented for ten generations or until the family dies entirely." Guthook licked the tip of a finger and turned the page. "Now, for businesses and properties."

"Wait, as in multiple?" Harry asked in shock, his green eyes wide.

The goblin gave him a flat look that easily spoke of what he thought of the human's intelligence. "Yes. The Potters have a ten percent share of the stocks of the Daily Prophet, fifteen percent in Flourish and Blotts, twenty percent in Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, and fifty percent in Slugs and Jigger's Apothecary. As you can see, the note written in the margin reads 'In order of importance', written in Lily Potter's hand." Guthook peered at Harry, who was lightly stroking the curled letters with an awed face. "Don't molest my ledger, human."

Harry jumped, flushing in embarrassment and Rita refrained from laughing. _That's kind of sad, that a kid would treat something even briefly touched by one of his parents with such reverence,_ she rubbed his shoulder gently, and he turned a shy smile towards her. _On the other hand, I can so totally use this. All I've got to do is find something tangentially related to his parents and I have his trust. Oh wait, I just did!_

"The cottage in Godric's Hollow has since been named a national landmark," the goblin continued, "And the Ministry of Magic has taken control of the property, though they legally purchased it and continue to make payments to this day. There was also Potter Manor in Eastern Wales, but it was burned to the ground early in the stupid war among wizards."

The last Potter looked down sadly, and Rita frowned. She expected he would have at least had a flat in London, maybe. Privet Drive wasn't too bad, as far as comfort goes, as she could just Confund the muggles into not being such dicks, but having a nice big space all to themselves would've been nice.

Guthook scoffed, "Calling that little skirmish a 'war?' _Wizards_." He cleared his throat. "As you may notice, the Potter Family's balance is very low, which is due, in part, to three things. One, James Potter spent nearly a third of it financing 'the war' until control was signed over to Lily Potter. She tied up another third in long-term investments and getting Potter Manor rebuilt, which is still in-progress, as it was burned to the ground with Fiendfyre and thus the foundations had to be dug up and the earth replaced. It, and the investments, should be finished in about two years."

Rita's eyes bulged as she saw the projected amount the investments would pay off, and how much the Manor had cost to rebuild. If she was wearing glasses, they would've flown off her face and hit Guthook, started another Goblin Rebellion and gotten them killed. But she wasn't wearing them, so they didn't. Phew.

"That's a lot," Harry murmured, feeling a bit faint at the number. He licked his lips and looked up at Guthook. "We also asked for an examination…what's that?"

The goblin set the ledger aside, brushing his nails on his coat. "It's short for a bloodline examination. We can trace your ancestry and if there are any old, inactive Houses, they will fall to you. It costs a hundred galleons."

Harry frowned, wondering if such a thing was worth the money. Rita gently touched his shoulder and nodded her head. "I had it done to me, and I'm being very literal when I say I wouldn't be here without having done it," she warned lightly, though she also _really_ wanted to see what families he was connected to. There were rumors that the Potters were connected to the Peverells, but no one was certain. "It's worth the money."

He looked hesitant, briefly trying to figure out if she was just trying to waste his money, but she hadn't done anything disingenuous so far. Beyond spying on him. "Alright, but I don't have that much on me right now."

Guthook gave him a flat look. He was very good at those. "We're in a bank, human," he replied rudely. "We can simply charge the amount to your vaults." He made a note in his ledger, before withdrawing a length of blank metal and rapidly tapping it with his claws. The doors were pushed open as a pair of goblins wheeled in a large contraption that looked like a mix between a small printing press and archaic machine made for bleeding people dry.

"Hand," one of the goblins grunted, seizing one of Harry's hands and pressing it against an indentation on the machine. There was a series of clicks before several needles pierced the wizard's palm. Rita noted, with some interest, that Harry barely flinched when she had to hold back a shout of pain all those years ago.

A small bowl filled with crimson fluid, with the other goblin dipping his finger in it and tasting it. He nodded and dropped a galleon in the bowl, the large golden coin sucking the blood up like a sponge, before picking it back up and sliding it into a slot. The machine began to whir and rumble, shaking slightly and belching a great big cloud of bright red smoke that tasted of lemons, for some reason.

The printing press part of the device began to spin, a sheet of parchment feeding out into the waiting claws of the goblins. One tore part of it off and scurried over to present it to Guthook, while the other grabbed the rest and slid it in front of Harry. The Potter Family Manager waved them off and they dragged the machine away, taking turns sucking on the smoke outlet and blowing different shapes with the red, lemon-tasting smoke.

Rita watched them in confusion, as when she'd done it, the smoke was dark purple and smelled like watermelon. Shaking her head, she turned to the parchment and took in the golden script. "Is this…is this accurate?" she managed through her shock.

Guthook slowly lowered the parchment in his hands, glaring at her over the top. "Of course it's accurate," he snarled, before sighing, "As you can see, you are the last of the Potter Family, but you are also named as Heir of the Black Family, as designated by one Sirius Black a day after his mother died. You've also had several families designate you as the head, but since they've all ended since then, their assets have been given to you, which amounts to eight thousand galleons and some change."

Harry frowned. "That's not a lot," he muttered, tapping his chin. He didn't want to seem mean, but it was about twenty different families and they didn't even amount to half his inheritance.

"They were minor families and there's a fine for naming an unconnected stranger as head, as well as another fine for complete transference of funds," Guthook replied simply, "Most interestingly, you are also the designated Heir of both Slytherin and Gryffindor House. Slytherin by way of defeating the last Heir in combat three times, once when you were one, again last year and again a month ago. And Gryffindor by way of…"

The goblin peered at the parchment, making an incredulous noise as Rita made a choked gasp mixed with a giggle. "Pulling a…sword out of a hat?" she half-asked, half-laughed, "How did that happen? And why does it count?"

"Apparently the former Head, one Godric Gryffindor, left it that way as a joke," Guthook said distantly, shaking his head. "Humans. Anyway, this nets you two seats on the Wizengamot that are pretty much honorary and never used, a few heirlooms including the sword you've already drawn, a book written in some strange language, a bundle of handwritten notes and a quill made from a Phoenix feather."

While Harry was somewhat happy at being the Heir to Gryffindor, if only because he was part of that House at Hogwarts (and not for the paltry rewards), he was also a bit conflicted at _actually_ being the Heir to Slytherin after having dealt with accusations of it all year. "Do those names go with Potter?"

"What, like 'Potter-Gryffindor-Slytherin-Black?" Guthook asked incredulously. "Of course not. If every House added the names of ones they conquered to theirs, it would take five minutes to read out. It was actually because the Lords wanted to be that pretentious that the herald at the Wizengamot meetings could never get through all the names before it would end, that such a practice was outlawed. The highest number of names allowed is six, anything above that is fined. No, all names will collapse into the Potter name, so as far as they're concerned, they are under 'Potter' and are being moved to the main vault."

"Oh," Harry murmured, wondering if he should be disappointed or not. "Alright then…"

Guthook set the parchment aside and folded his hands. "You've had your accounting and your examination, and if there's nothing else, please grab your letters, presents and accept the bounties, then _go away._ And have a nice day." He waved his hands dismissively and the doors opened again.

Rita and Harry left Guthook behind and were lead to a cart by another goblin. The cart shot off as soon as they sat down to their mutual enjoyment, speeding around twists and turns with stalactites, stalagmites and carved cave walls flying past at a literal breakneck pace. It screeched to a stop outside a vault marked with a sign at the bottom of the door reading 'Temporary Vault' in faded letters.

The goblin carelessly smacked the door with his hand and it faded away, revealing a veritable mountain of gold. "Vault 1892, unclaimed bounties for the death of one 'Lord Voldemort'," he announced boredly.

Harry peered at the money in surprise, before turning to the goblin with a question. "How do I take posses-?"

"Just say it," he snapped back.

"I, uh, take possession of this gold?" Harry said hesitantly. "In the name of Harry Potter?"

A loud pop nearly deafened the two humans as the gold vanished, leaving the vault completely bare. The door reappeared with a much quieter pop, not that they could hear it, and the goblin plucked the sign out from under it and carelessly tossed it into the depths of Gringotts. They were pushed back onto the cart even as they clutched their ears and were forced to grab onto each other as it sped off.

The next stop was before a series of smaller vaults with bronzed doors, and two with golden doors large enough to Hagrid riding a dragon. Before they could take more than two steps off the cart, the goblin stopped and faced them with his hands gripped behind his back. "Look, I'm sure it'll be riveting, watching you sort through over a decade of mail, but it will waste a lot less time if you just had it all transferred to the main vault," he said, his face twisted in irritation. Or that was just his face, who knew?

"And how-?" Harry started.

"Just say it!" The goblin barked in irritation.

Harry frowned at him. While he could understand Guthook being irritated with him, he could do without the all hostility from this one bored goblin. "Fine, I, Harry Potter, take possession of all these vaults and wish for their contents to be transferred to the Main Potter Vault."

The goblin grunted and led them back to the cart after a series of muted pops, and they took off once again for their final destination. Much like the previous doors, this one was large and made of metal, but silver instead of gold and with ornate carvings on it, and the name 'Potter' posted above it on a sign.

The goblin presented a key from what seemed to be thin air and handed it to Harry, who placed it in the lock and turned it. The door clicked once, before swinging open soundlessly.

Inside, there were several things of interest. A pile of gold, silver and bronze coins stacked high, a bunch of wardrobes and trunks lying haphazardly together, a few sets of armor that wouldn't look out of place on a pedestal at Hogwarts, a few swords, axes and maces that looked like they needed a lot of care, and several pots of varying size. Also, a pile of presents and letters.

"Holy shit," Rita breathed, "you're friggin' loaded, Harry. I bet you could buy half the stores in Diagon Alley with all this."

Then, a third of all the gold, silver and bronze vanished without a sound and a note fluttered down from the ceiling. _Donations to St. Mungo's, the Ministry of Magic and the Muggleborn Noblesse Oblige Fund have been taken._ The note remained for a second before fading away.

"My point still stands, albeit a bit exaggerated," the reporter continued. "Why don't we take a look at the heirlooms, Harry? Maybe we'll find something useful?"

"Or something from my parents," Harry murmured, heading towards the trunks and wardrobes. A few of them seemed to be in good shape, while more than half looked scorched and blackened.

They would make plenty of surprised noise upon opening all the trunks, I assure you, but I'm just going to skip to the part where they find something useful and heartwarming. Before that, it was pretty much just out of date clothes, books, the occasional dirty magazine with saucy wenches winking from the covers, and crumpled up bits of paper.

One of the newer trunks had the initials 'L.E.' inscribed on the front in marker, and when Harry opened it, he found robes that would fit a nicely-curved woman, some muggle underwear he _sincerely_ did not want to think about his mother wearing, and a neat stack of journals and a note.

 _Stop snooping in my trunk, James!_ Heartwarming, indeed.

The next was of a higher quality and had the names 'James Potter' inscribed in a silver patch of metal on the front, and the contents were somewhat similar. Robes and clothes for an adult, a few seventh-year textbooks, one journal and a neat stack of dirty magazines. Also a few bottles of some sort of potion that glowed pink.

Rita had to stifle a laugh upon finding them, and explained at Harry's confused look. "They're contraceptive potions," she giggled. Harry gave her a strange look and nodded slowly, running his hands along the rim of the trunk, which felt odd under his hands. He dug his nails into a seam and pulled, the bottom lifting up to reveal a staircase disappearing into darkness.

With a shrug, Harry hopped down and followed the twisting steps into a rather large room. There were a few posters of undoubtedly muggle women (who else wore bike leathers?) and the occasional Quidditch pennant, but it was almost entirely dominated by a large map of the interior of Hogwarts. Sections of the castle had been circled and marked off, with various scribbles around them. A small potion lab took up part of the room, and there was a toilet and a cot nearby.

Above the Map was sign scrawled in a messy hand: _The Marauders Super-Secret Base! Shhh!_

"Marauders?" Harry murmured, poking the map with a finger. To his surprise, it giggled quietly and shuddered, withdrawing up. Underneath that map was another map, but this one was of England. Some locations had been circled in green, and others were crossed out with red X's and others were marked with either blue ink and smiley faces or black ink and frowny faces.

"Wow," Rita said as she stepped down, taking in the room, "This is one of _those_ trunks. These are really, _really_ expensive. It must be one of those family heirlooms." She approached the map wall, examining it with slight confusion. "Oh!"

Harry turned to her with a questioning face. "What?"

"I recognize some of these names," she said, pointing at the map, "These are places where Voldemort or Death Eaters attacked, and these are the homes of every known Death Eater. Seems like James Potter was trying to find a pattern in attacks. Or it might've been Lily, I can't tell."

They heard a loud throat-clearing above them, echoing through the vault. "We should probably get going," Harry said sadly. "I wish I could take all this with me."

Rita gave him a strange look as they walked back up the stairs. "Who says you can't?" She asked, pulling her wand from her purse and waving it. She summoned Lily Potter's trunk towards her and shrunk it, dropping it down the staircase, then pointed her wand at the massive piles of crap and swished it in a wide arc. All of the letters, presents and sweets zoomed towards them, shrinking in size until each individual piece resembled a postage stamp before it zoomed down the stairs and into the expanded compartment. _Ooh, is that a white Chocolate Frog?_

It passed by before she could think about grabbing it, so she focused on continually summoning and shrinking all the stuff until that section of the vault was bare. It left her panting and sweating tiredly, because that shit was hard.

The look Harry was giving her made it all worth it, though Rita felt a bit sheepish since someone like Dumbledore could've made that look completely effortless. "That was wicked," the last Potter said quietly. "Thanks for doing that. Are you alright?"

She nodded, wiping the sweaty hair clinging to her face back. "Yeah…I'll be fine in just a second," Rita tapped the trunk, shrinking it down to size of a toy, and handed it to Harry. "Here you go."

He took the tiny trunk delicately, like he expected it to snap apart in his fingers. "Thanks," he murmured, gently placing it in his pocket before perking up. "Right! I got this for you." Harry held out a White Chocolate Frog to her, feeling oddly shy for some reason.

Rita quirked an eyebrow at him, wondering when he'd had time to grab that, but took it with a smile. "Aw, thank you, Harry." She ruffled his hair softly and put an arm around his shoulders. _Bingo._ "Let's refill your purse and make tracks before that goblin locks us in here."

They did so, the reporter taking small bites out of the sweet as Harry filled his bag, finishing it as they sat down and sped back up to the surface world. They emerged into the afternoon daylight and the busy streets of Diagon Alley blinking, tired and hungry.

"Do you want to do some shopping today, or leave it for later?" Rita asked, tapping her fingers on her purse. Honestly, she'd like a gillywater and some chips, but it was _his_ money.

"Actually, I'm feeling kind of hungry right now," he replied sheepishly. "And I don't want to think about money anymore today, that whole thing made my head hurt."

"Alright then, I know a good chip shop just outside Diagon if you're up for it," she offered, feeling her stomach rumble in agreement. "They've also got really good milkshakes if that makes any difference."

Harry visibly perked up at that. "That sounds really good," he said happily, taking her by the hand and pulling her onto the street. He noticed about halfway to the exit what he had done and quickly let go of her, flushing in embarrassment and apologizing quietly.

Rita just chuckled and ruffled his hair again. Really, having a bunch of stuff from his parents had put the twelve-year old in a happy mood and it was a bit infectious. And also an opening. All she had to do was toss out a line.

When they reached the exit, she transfigured their clothes into normal muggle wear and they seamlessly switched from the Wizarding to the Muggle world without even an odd look. The delicious greasy scent of frying chips and frying battered fish floated through the air like stereotypical London fog and pulled them along like a dog on an overpowered retractable leash. The shop wasn't even busy and they were seated and ordered in a few minutes, both ordering the beer-battered cod with chips with a strawberry milkshake for Rita and a chocolate one for Harry.

"So, for the first things I think you should get are nutrition potions," the reporter started, playing with a bright red straw, "They're not exactly cheap, but if you get a note from St. Mungos' saying they're a medical necessity, you'd get a massive discount. And no offense, but you could really use them."

He frowned at her, tentatively poking his chest and feeling his ribs. Even a year of good food at Hogwarts wasn't enough to fully fill him out. At this point he wasn't even lean, just really skinny. And short. And he had messy hair. And he could really use some new glasses. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying you're an under-nourished short-arse, but you're right about that age for the puberty fairy to visit you, so it can be fixed," Rita said bluntly, perking up as a server deposited the baskets of greasy food and frosty glasses of milkshakes in front of them. She stuck a hot fry in her mouth and spoke around it, "Think of it this way: they'll help you get stronger, faster and more able to protect yourself."

"And my friends," Harry added.

"Sure."

Their attention was taken by the food, so they ate in silence until all that remained was empty baskets and greasy fingers. "Did you have that whole thing at Gringotts done for you?" Harry asked suddenly, sipping his milkshake. "The accounting and the exam?"

Rita nodded, smiling behind her cup. "I did, a long time ago. Found out I was related to some family of potioneers, the Dagworth-Grangers, I think, but not enough to inherit anything of value besides a discount on potion supplies. But, there was one other family, one I'd never heard of before…" She leaned on her hand, tapping her fingers on the empty glass. "The Skeeter family. So small they were barely recorded, only had a few hundred galleons in a tiny vault, and a small 'estate' that might as well have been a cottage. For a just-out-of-Hogwarts Muggleborn during the war with Voldemort, though, it was a blessing."

His eyes wide with surprise, Harry asked, " _You're_ a muggleborn? I thought…"

"That I was a pureblood?" Rita snorted, "No, I'm not. I had to do a _lot_ of studying and digging to get the act down, and now even the illustrious Lucius Malfoy thinks I'm one of his ilk." She smiled with dark satisfaction. "Every time they whisper to me about how filthy Mudbloods are dirtying up the world, it makes me smile, just a little bit. On the inside."

"Why would it do that?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Irony," she said in reply, shrugging. "Anyway, let's grab a cab back to Privet Drive. There's a lot of stuff we need to go through, and I'm thinking it'll take all day."

As they walked outside and the reporter called for a ride, the last Potter was peering at the side of her head in thought. Rita Skeeter was a strange person, he noted. She had been kind to him, helped him connect to his family, and bought him lunch. On the other hand, she cursed the Dursley's (if only to act like normal people), had darkness that she tried to cover with smiles, and seemed to be a _bit_ too interested in being as helpful as possible.

She wasn't a slouch when it came to magic, either, so if she _was_ trying to take advantage of him, it was in his best interests to go along with it. He'd definitely be keeping an eye on her, though.

His eyes drifted down from her face as she hopped in place, waving an arm to get attention from a cab, since every one of them seemed to determined to ignore them, and landed on her chest. Her jacket was pretty loose and her top was a simple shirt that clung to her chest, which bounced rather pleasantly and Harry found his gaze locked on it for some reason.

He blinked and shook his head, feeling very embarrassed but not understanding why.

Rita suddenly smacked her forehead and flicked her wand. "I put up a Notice-me-not when we got lunch," she told a curious Harry, smirking sardonically. "I forgot to take it down afterwards."

Almost immediately, a cab came to a stop near them and allowed them to embark towards Privet Drive. "Why didn't we just take the-" Harry's eyes flicked to the cabbie, who was ignoring them or seemed to be, "-bus back home? It would be faster."

The reporter chuckled quietly. "As much fun as I have on the bus, you never want to ride it after you've eaten, _especially_ not something heavy like we just had," she grimaced. "Trust me. It's easier to just throw food on the floor and cut out the middleman."

Harry nodded and sat back, fingering the tiny trunk in his pocket, and they spent the ride in silence.

…

Arriving at #4 Privet Drive, they found both cars gone and the house empty. The trash was full of discarded junk food and other unhealthy things that were Dudley's favorites, as well as old clothes that had once been Harry's. It seemed like Petunia had taken Dudley out shopping for some healthier food, and it was about damn time.

Rita unshrunk the trunk in the living room and they went down to get started on the build-up of letters and presents, which I shall sum up with a brief montage of vignettes because seriously, the whole thing with the accounts was boring enough.

They first sorted them into thank-you's, well-wishes and hate mail. The first pile was the biggest, though the third was close to matching it, and the second was the smaller. Most of the thank-you's were just that, people saying thank you for something that no one is completely sure of what took place that night, but the effort was appreciated. A large number of notes had come from the children of targeted families, like the 'blood-traitor' Weasleys, half-bloods who'd had children with muggleborns and the like.

Interestingly, several prominent purebloods, including _known_ Death Eaters, also sent letters espousing their thankfulness to Harry for 'freeing them from the Dark Lord;' and a good many of those also carried offers of marriage, including one to Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode. Most of the rest were invalidated by the offered bride being too old, too married or too dead.

Harry felt _very_ uneasy about possibly being married to a girl who resembled a pug and a troll, respectively, while Rita was nearly beside herself with glee. _Oh Rita, your rising star just picked up speed!_ She had to refrain from squealing. ' _Thank you for setting us free, Harry Potter!' Oh, I wonder just how much you'll blush when I bring that up, Lucius Malfoy! Ha!_

"I don't have to marry them, do I?" The last Potter asked hesitantly.

"Nah, they're just offers," she dismissed with a wave of her hand, before tapping her chin in thought. "Though, they be could a good way to start networking. I'm not saying marriage is on the table, just wait until you're a bit older and they've grown up, _then_ make a decision."

Harry grimaced and set the offers aside. While Bulstrode had never really bothered him, her interactions with Hermione were a completely different story, and Parkinson was definitely one of Malfoy's hanger-ons who shrieked with laughter every time he said anything remotely funny. Or insulting. Or degrading. Or opened his mouth.

In fact, it had just occurred to him that maybe Parkinson was trying _really_ hard to ingratiate herself with Malfoy…or trying to do the opposite. Who knew?

Next was hate-mail, and it was surprising to see just how many of the same names were repeated from the 'thank-you' pile, and even more of it came from students he shared classes with. The common theme seemed to be, 'why didn't you reply to my letters?' followed by, 'I know you must be busy living in your castle and being trained by Merlin', then 'you really can't take some time to reply? Not even one line so I know you got my letters?' to 'fine, I don't want to be your friend anyway!' And then a bunch of those afterwards just called him a tosser and made fun of his hair.

As Harry finished the last of those letters, he dropped it to the ground and clutched his head in shock. "This is why no one wants to be friends with me?" He asked himself quietly. Despite appearances to the contrary, he _did_ try to make friends with other people besides Hermione and Ron, but they always blew him off or acted insulted for no reason. As it turns out, they kinda had a reason.

"Yeah," Rita answered, examining one of the messages. "Seems like they didn't know your mail was being redirected and got really insulted when you never replied. And with you approaching them like you wanted to make friends, it must've seemed like you only paid attention to them when it was convenient. I can see why they'd be insulted."

"But I didn't!" Harry cried, feeling tears of frustration welling up in his eyes. "I didn't know it was being redirected!"

Before he could bitch about the unfairness of it all, Rita, feeling bad about his situation, grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him into a comforting hug. Harry stiffened, unused to being in such close contact with someone, and also because his face was buried a bit under the center of her cleavage since, as mentioned before, he was a short-arse.

That hadn't been what the reporter had intended to do, but she'd roll with it. Nothing like making someone feel safe around you by shoving their face in your boobs, right? It's warm and soft there, and it felt nice for Rita as well. She ran a hand through his hair as he slowly brought his arms up and hugged her back. "I know it's unfair, Harry, but it can be fixed."

He pulled his head away from her cleavage and both were a bit surprised that it didn't make a popping sound like a drain being unplugged. "Do you think so?" Harry asked, feeling his cheeks warm, his head a bit light and his heart beating oddly.

"Of course!" She replied, enthusiastically. "All you have to do is write an apology letter, copy it a bunch of times and change the names, make sure to mention that you were unaware your mail was being redirected until this summer and that you're sorry for something you had no control over (you have to be subtle about that), maybe mention your lack of proper guardians and they'll feel so bad about being angry with you that they'll be open to trying again."

Harry blinked in surprise. That did actually sound pretty easy, except for writing out all those letters. "Oh," he murmured, scratching his head and feeling like a right wally for freaking out about it. "That makes sense. Thanks for explaining it, Rita."

She didn't resist the urge to coo and stroked his hair again. "Aww, lookit you acting all shy!" She hugged him again. "It's alright to feel pressured, just remember to take a step back and think things through logically, alright?"

He nodded and stepped back, instantly missing the soft warmth and pausing to think to himself about why when he noticed Rita bending over to get to work on the well-wishes pile and the fact that her pants were quite tight. Harry frowned to himself and subtly peered down the waistband of his pants. _What are you doing? Why are you stiff?_

The letters wishing him well were just that, letters wishing him well; though they got more passive-aggressive as they got closer to the present day. And speaking of presents, time to sum up again!

Most the presents sent to him matched his age at the time of sending and went down in number as they came closer to the current time and were, for the most part, age-appropriate. When he was two, the presents were kid's toys and jim-jams, though most were different than what he expected as they were pretty much all magical items. Most two-year olds might've gotten a hollow wooden block with shaped rods to fit in, but magical two-year olds got one that changed colors and shot the rods back out with cute whistles before they burst into little fireworks.

There were only a few that were actually useful at his age, including a fits-any-size wand-holster for his wrist that was sent to him for his eleventh birthday, a nicely furnished trunk and a lot of first-year material, including books and potion ingredients that could all be used; as shelf-filler or for future generations, and because he needed practice with potions something fierce.

There was also a freaking Nimbus 1900 included, and a few pennants for all the houses at Hogwarts. The presents for his second year Christmas and twelfth birthday were much the same, as apparently having a section of a store's stocks meant they'd give you shit for free, like a filled ingredient rack with all the things he would've needed for second year potions and books.

Which meant he had pretty much been wasting money on things given to him for free.

"Do you get any Christmas presents at _all_?" Rita asked incredulously, playing with Remembrall spinning between her hands and eyeing the wand-holster a bit enviously. Those things were damned expensive but extremely useful, and she'd wanted one for a while.

"Yeah, I do," he answered with a shrug. "That was something I thought was strange, since I got gifts from Hermione, Ron, Hagrid and the Weasley's, so why didn't I get these?"

The reporter opened her mouth and paused, _This is an opening, but I can't push too hard too fast._ She grimaced indecisively, which Harry noticed and brought up.

"What is it?" He asked curiously.

"Well," Rita teetered, "Isn't it… _curious_ that the only people you got letters and gifts from are in just that group? Almost like someone's trying to keep you circled off."

Harry gave her an inquisitive look. "Who would do that?"

"You said Hagrid and the Weasley's, right? And your curly-haired friend who likes authority?" she started leadingly, "Think about it, who do they all have in common?"

"…Me?" The last Potter tried.

The reporter huffed. "No, someone who they all really like? Really, _really_ like, almost like worship?" Rita started again.

He looked up and away in thought. ' _Grea' man, tha' Dumbledore,'_ he recalled, his eyes going wide. "No," Harry denied quietly, "Dumbledore wouldn't do that…right?"

 _If I push now, he'll just firm up,_ Rita realized and shrugged instead. "I'm only pointing out the possibility," she said gently, "Now, we're almost done, let's get finished."

Harry shook his head and held his chin up, but a little niggling doubt had been planted in the back of his mind, and only time would tell if it would bear fruit.

The pile of candy was a massive pile of candy, and thanks to the in-built preservation charms in the packages, even the ones from many years ago were still edible, if less animated. Which, if you've ever had a Chocolate Frog's leg kick while you're swallowing it, meant the candy was about eighty percent improved!

And then there was the alcohol, most with notes mentioning no one would think any less of him if he tried some before he was legal, wink. They were set aside for later.

Harry and Rita had decided they deserved a treat for their long day, and had sat down and nibbling on a Chocolate Frog and an Ice Mouse respectively, when the reedy tones of Petunia Dursley drifted down. "Dears! I hope you're hungry, supper's ready!"

The reporter gave Harry a confused look. "Did you know she was here?" she asked quietly.

He shook his head and made his way up the stairs with the animagus following behind him, the scent of meat and vegetables meeting their noses as they emerged from within the trunk to find the table set for all of them, sans an extra chair. Vernon watched them come out with wide eyes, an eyelid twitching. "How interesting," he muttered stoically, even as his face began to turn red. It only got worse when Rita magicked herself up a chair.

"I've got pot roast and vegetables for dinner, dears," Petunia greeted them with a thin smile, slicing angrily into the roasted flank. "With a nice fruit salad for dessert, won't that be lovely? Vernon, dear, please pass this to our guest," she asked, handing him a plate.

Vernon took it gently, but then began to shake in place like house in the middle of an earthquake, and Petunia gripped her knife with white knuckles. Only Dudley seemed not insane, and that was because he looked dead on his feet. Or arse, since he was in a chair.

"Oh, the Confudus is fading," Rita realized, drawing her wand and releasing a wave of blue dust with a swish. Petunia almost immediately fell asleep standing up, and Dudley's head met the table with a dull thump, which was the last straw for Vernon.

With a shout of, "YOU FREAK-" he hurled the plate at Rita's face with surprising accuracy. Harry's hand darted out and snatched the thrown dish out of the air before it could hit her, even as the reporter hit Vernon with a Stunner.

Harry set the dish on the table and shook his hand out, hissing in pain. As impressive as that had looked, the edge had bounced off the bones in his hands which now throbbed angrily. Rita gently took his hand and tapped it with her wand, intoning, " _Episkey."_

It glowed a light green and became very warm for second, but when that faded, Harry was amazed to find his hand felt completely uninjured. Then he was pulled into another hug as Rita wrapped her arms around him. "Uh, Rita?"

"That would've definitely hurt had it hit me," she said gently, patting his head. "Thanks for taking that for me."

It was so different from her usual upbeat personality and tender that Harry felt his face flush. "Of course," he mumbled as she loosened her arms; but instead of letting go entirely, Rita cupped his cheeks and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, which made him feel like he was going to burst into flames. "What was that spell?" He coughed to hide his embarrassment.

"It's a low-level general healing spell," Rita replied, pushing Petunia into her chair and cutting another portion out for herself and Harry, as hers had gone flying into the sink when the fat muggle had thrown it at her. "It's good for small cuts and bruises, but that's it."

Harry hummed in thought and took a plate, glancing at his snoozing relatives. "What are we going to do with them?" he asked quietly, as if afraid to wake them.

"Well, I'm not feeling very charitable after having a plate chucked at my face," she replied, serving herself and taking a bite. "But I could just send them upstairs and have them eat up there."

The last Potter thought for a second, before nodding. "That sounds good."

A few flicks and swishes later, the Dursley's headed upstairs with plates and left them alone. "You know what, let's watch the telly while we eat," Rita said suddenly, standing up and heading for the couch.

"Can we do that?" Harry asked a bit stupidly, having seen Dudley and Vernon do such a thing before. At her flat look, he amended, "Never mind," and got up to join her.

They sat next to each other on the paisley-patterned couch and watched an episode about a dark-skinned Inspector with anger issues solving crimes and occasionally yelling. It was actually pretty good, and the main character had a very pleasant voice to listen to.

Rita stretched and set her plate aside, smacking her lips. "Ah, that was pretty good. You want a cuppa before the next episode?" She asked Harry.

"Yes, actually, but you stay here, I'll get it if that's alright," he replied, hopping up and taking her plate before scurrying into the kitchen.

Rita chuckled, quietly. The episode they'd watched had a bit of sex scene in it, though it was rather tame, being public television and all that, and she could feel his awkwardness radiating off him like a light bulb. Her laughter died quickly and she pulled out a trio of letters she had snuck out of the pile. Like many people, she'd sent letters to the Boy-Who-Lived trying to secure an interview, and when she was ignored, she'd followed up with a pair of angry, diatribe-filled rants.

She considered showing them to Harry, but the thought of the sweet, awkward pre-teen being disappointed with her made something lurch on the inside. With a quick flick of her wand, she banished the letters into the fire and stuffed it back in her purse before Harry saw, taking her cup of tea with a smile and a 'thank-you'.

When a commercial break interrupted the show, she turned to Harry with a thought on her mind. "Harry?" she started, getting a hum from the last Potter. "When we were at Gringotts, Guthook said you were the Heir of Slytherin because you defeated the previous heir three times, once when you were a baby, once last year and once this year. What happened those times?"

Harry flushed, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Well, we kind of…" he proceeded to tell her all the events of the previous two years, leaving out some personal moments like his finding of the Mirror of Erised and what he saw in it. That was just too personal.

By the end, Rita was staring at him shock. Having his broom get jinxed in the middle of a match, find a freaking Cerberus on the Third Floor, the goddamn _Philosopher's Stone_? Not to mention that Voldemort was not only still alive, but had been living on the back of the Defense Against the Dark Art's teacher's skull the whole year?

Then, a bunch of petrifications, whispering walls, Harry being a Parseltongue, getting stalked by the damn Malfoy elf, finding out the Weasley girl was not only behind it all, but was also possessed? By a shade of the aforementioned Dark Lord, no less? And fighting a mother _fucking basilisk?!_

Gilderoy Lockhart being a fraud was less surprising, but the totality of it was moreso.

 _Holy shit, Rita, your rising star just became the fucking_ Enterprise _!_ She thought, saying only, "Wow," out loud. "That's…that's a lot of stuff."

"Yeah," Harry agreed quietly. "You're not gonna report on that, are you?"

Rita gave him an incredulous look. "Why wouldn't I, Harry? Do you know how incredible it is that you defeated Voldemort _three_ times? _Before_ you got into your teens? People were considered amazing if they escaped Voldemort _once_ , and here you are after beating him!"

The twelve-year old wizard flushed, looking shyly. "Well, I had help," he pointed out.

"Yeah, sure, _getting_ to Voldemort, but you're the one who defeated him both times," she replied quickly. "And that's not mentioning both of your DADA teachers trying to harm you. And the legendary Chamber of Secrets and massive fuck-off Basilisk!"

"Well, yeah, I mean, but I still-" Harry jumped as Rita shot up suddenly and seized him by the shoulders.

"You did claim the carcass, right? That thing must've been sixty feet long and hundreds of years old! Not only is the body massively valuable, the materials from it would be insanely helpful!" She babbled.

Harry tried to pull away. "No, I didn't!" he said loudly.

Rita drew back and shook herself. "Alright, Harry, I need you to repeat after me: I, Harry Potter, claim the carcass of the magical beast I've slain."

The last Potter's expression was on the confused side, but he repeated them back to her. "Why'd you make me do that? And why'd you freak out?" he asked, making a bit of distance between them on the couch.

She gave him a thin smile and slouched back on the couch. "Sorry, Harry, it's just that something _that_ valuable being wasted when you'll definitely need it…it made me panic. I'm sorry for grabbing you like that," Rita said sincerely, rubbing her forehead wearily.

"Okay," he muttered, leaning back, "So, you're really going to write some articles about me, then?"

Rita gave him another look. "Harry," she said slowly, "You beat Voldemort, but think on it: he's still alive, and trying to find a way back. People need to know, if only to prepare." The reporter frowned. "Why don't you want me to write about it, Harry?"

Harry looked away, feeling awkward. "I've already got a reputation for being the Boy-Who-Lived, how much worse would it get if they found out I did those things?"

Rita's eyebrows went up. "Harry, you're sweet, but that's really dumb and kind of selfish." At his slightly hurt look, she moved to mollify him. "Look, I know you don't like the title and all that, but you defeated one of the worst Dark Lords twice, fought a fully-grown wizard and killed a Basilisk. _That_ is genuinely amazing, and it has nothing to do with surviving the Killing Curse. They're all things you did yourself."

Harry perked up, not having thought of that. "That's right…" he realized aloud, scratching the back of his head.

"Plus, from your stories, the security at Hogwarts must be a joke," she added, rolling her eyes. "Seriously, a Cerberus and a Basilisk? What next, Dementors?" Rita chuckled, but the last Potter titled his head curiously. "Soul-sucking monsters."

"Oh," he said, shivering, "I guess you can, then. But…can you leave out the some of the stuff that didn't have to do with the monsters and Voldemort?"

"Sure," she shrugged, "Artistic license and all that. You can even have a look over the final draft before I send it in, how about that?"

Harry breathed a sigh, nodding slowly. "That works," he managed before cracking a massive yawn. "I'm really tired," he said obviously. "I'm going to get ready for bed."

"Alright," Rita replied, feeling a yawn coming on. "I think I'll follow after a bit." She stood and pulled Harry into another hug, stroking her fingers through his hair. "It was really busy, but I had a good time with you today, Harry."

His face red and once more getting intimately close to her breasts, Harry returned the sentiment with a mumble and pulled away, stumbling up the steps and looking down at his crotch and wondering why it was hard.

Rita had a smile on her face as he left, which faded as she sat down and pulled out her Qwik-Quotes Quill and a roll of parchment. " _Gilderoy Lockhart: Fictional Fraud?_ Gilderoy Lockhart is the five-times winner of Witch Weekly's Most-Charming Smile Award, but that shining smile hides a much darker reality…"

…

It was much later when Rita stumbled upstairs, blinking tiredly. Her eyes landed on the door to Harry's room first and she debated sleeping in there again, but decided against it and made for the guest room. Before she could set foot inside, though, she turned around and went for the master bedroom. Inside, she found the Dursley clan sleeping on the bed.

She banished the dirty dishes to the sink, then turned her wand on the muggles. With a few contemptuous flicks, she conjured a terrarium of glass and added a few sticks, leaves and a glass partition. She transfigured the Dursley's into fat beetles and dropped them inside, charming them to make sure they wouldn't try and kill each other. "Throw a plate at my head, fuckers?" She sneered, restraining the urge to squash them. "Hurting Harry? This is your punishment. Hope you enjoy leaves."

Rita left the room with a small skip in her step, entering the guest room and transfiguring the horrible bed dressing into something not shit and her clothes into pyjamas, while also making a note to drop by her home, she fell into bed with a satisfied smile on her face.

Even then, it took her a while to fall asleep, wondering why it felt like something was missing.

In his room, Harry had the same problem.

It was almost like they'd gotten used to sleeping in the same room or something.

…

…

…

…

 **Quick Note: I was going to publish this with the other poll stories in another mass update, but between work, xbox and procrastinating like a goddamn champ, I figured it was better to get this out before anymore delays.**

 **A/N: Hey, look at that, another chapter for you! And hey, the goblins weren't all super nice and friendly because a human remembered one of their names! Wow!**

 **Actually, that's something that's ruffles my jammies a bit when it comes to fanfiction, how the goblins become straight BFF's when Harry remembers Griphook. Here, he actually gets the little shit in trouble. How's that for originality?**

 **Probably not all that much, actually.**

 **NS: Nope. Sorry. :P**

 **Anyway, Harry didn't get some massive five million galleon inheritance, twenty homes all over the world, a bunch of names, titles and marriage contracts, because that's easy mode fellas, and this is a medium playthrough. Not hard mode, though, that's just Harry's pubescence rearing its head! And the shaft!**

 **I actually had to look up what the average age for puberty begins, since mine hit me when I was nine and that's how I usually write it as.**

 **Also, I gave what I think is a reasonable reason why the public always flip-flops on Harry whenever the wind changes: they're resentful of being ignored. I mean seriously you guys, they drank to the kid, it makes sense some of them would want to send letters, notes or presents to the little shit. And hey, here you go.**

 **So, I didn't say it before, but my Rita is visually based on Rachel Weisz, which is a bit of a funny story. I thought that was who was playing her in the movie, and I thought they did a pretty bad job of making her ugly. Then I figured out it wasn't and felt kinda dumb, but whatever. Her 'Glasses-Off' look is based on Rachel Weisz, and her 'Glasses-On' look is based on the movie version, just so you know.**

 **I hope you liked this chapter and if you did, remember to vote for it on the poll! Not that it's not in the lead or anything, but I'll be releasing a follow-up chap for all the new stories before the poll ends.**

 **Also, big thanks to NorthSouthGorem and Kurogane7 for editing and shit. Hey, you should go give them a look, that would be ever so much fun, wouldn't it?**

 **Stay Awesome.**

 **~Soleneus**

 **P.S.: This chapter brought to you by Zero Punctuation and Yahtzee Croshaw, and Luther starring Idris Elba. All good shows that you should watch. Also Miracle of Sound and Level Seven!**

 **How you liking the story so far? Leave a review and let me know! :D**

 **I'm also on Xbox One, Twitter, Deviantart and Pa Treon if you're interested…not many people are.**

 **Stay Awesome Some More.**

 **~still Soleneus**


	3. All The Better to Buy Stuff, My Dear

When Harry came into the kitchen, yawning widely and rubbing his eyes, he peered about confusedly at the silence. There was no Petunia bustling about and bitching, no Vernon in his chair with his newspaper and complaints, no Dudley at the table stuffing his face and whining…it was actually quite peaceful.

Deciding not to question his luck, Harry shrugged and set about making breakfast, dropping bread into the toaster and a good few rashers of bacon into the pan to fry while he set about cracking eggs and whisking yolks. After seasoning and pouring the eggs into another pan, he grabbed the tin of pre-ground coffee that Petunia filled every other day when Dudley was out, so as to not damage her precious Diddy's ears, and filled the machine with grounds and water.

He was standing sentry over the bacon, flipping it to get it nice and crispy but also a bit chewy, just how he liked it, when Rita stumbled into the room, yawning widely and stretching, her sleep shirt riding up over her pale stomach. Harry managed to tear his eyes away from the oddly enrapturing sight when the bacon popped and hot grease splattered on his cheek.

Rita 'That Bitch' Skeeter smacked her lips and scratched at her mussed hair, sniffing the air and sighing at the sharp scent of coffee mixed with frying pork. She poured herself a cup of the delicious black gold and downed it steaming, her eyes clearing as she perked up like a nipple in a cold metal bra.

Harry plated the eggs and bacon, buttering the toast before adding it to the dishes and carrying them over to the table. "I hope you like it," he said quietly, taking a seat across from her.

"If it tastes half as good as it smells, I'll love it," she replied with a smile. _And anything's better than the crap I usually eat. Half a cold crumpet and cereal doesn't really compare._ Rita took a bite and moaned in her mouth. "It's delicious."

The young Potter gave her a small grin and forked a bite of eggs into his maw, chewing happily. "Of all the chores I have to do, I like cooking the most."

She nodded, her mouth full. "You're gonna make some girl very happy someday," she mumbled around a bite of toast.

Harry tilted his head quizzically. "Aren't you happy now?" he asked curiously.

Rita nodded enthusiastically. "Mhm-hm."

"Then today is that someday," he finished with a smile.

She paused in thought before tapping her temple knowingly. "I see what you did there," Rita acknowledged with a wink. "So, I'm thinking after breakfast, we take the Knight Bus to Saint Mungo's, get you a prescription, then get you some nutrient potions. And then maybe go shopping for some clothes, odds and ends and the like."

"I still have to write out all of those letters, though," he pointed out, rubbing his wrist as it twinged with the ghost of pain yet to come visited him. "That's going to take all day."

The yellow journalist glanced at him curiously. "How so?" She asked, waving her wand vaguely, her bag zooming into her hand a few seconds later. She retrieved her acid-green Qwik-Quotes Quill and a roll of parchment, setting them out in the air in front of her. "I'm a fairly good writer, you know, so I can write it out, you can look it over, I'll create copies and then we can drop 'em off at the post office."

"Oh," Harry mumbled, before perking up. "I love magic."

Rita smirked, shaking her head at how easily impressed he was. "How about this:

 _Dear_ 'Blank',

 _My name is Harry Potter, and I would like to formally apologize for not answering your wonderful, gracious letters of thanks that were sent to me so long ago. I was raised outside of the Wizarding World, and have recently discovered that my property is covered by a Mail-Redirection Ward. I was unaware of this at the time yours letters were sent, and have only only now just been made aware of their existence. Please accept my sincere apologies for the chain of events that landed me in this position through no fault of my own._

 _I hope that this letter of reply will lighten your disposition of me, late as it may be, and that now, with the ward removed, we will be able to converse as we always should have been._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Harry Potter."_

Harry frowned in thought, his green eyes narrowing behind his glasses, his face like that of a confused owl. "Is that…a bit too apologetic?" He asked slowly.

"Well, you're not so much apologizing for not seeing them, as you are for the chain of events that led to you ending up here," Rita pointed out with a shrug. "No one's going to hold that against you, except for the pricks. Like Malfoy."

"Oh, alright then," he nodded in agreement, eyeing the single roll of parchment curiously. "How are you going to copy them?"

"Ah, right," the nosy bint grabbed her QQ-quill and manually sketched a small rune on the bottom corner. "This is a longevity rune," she explained, pointing it out to Harry. "Drawing or carving this into transfigured or, in this case, cloned items will make them last longer, almost to the point of permanence. This way, the letters won't fade away after a couple of hours."

"Wicked," Harry breathed, poking the squiggly circle with a finger. "Can runes do other things?"

"Of course!" Rita laughed, waving a hand. "Runes are used in wardstones and the like, and you can draw them into a bedspread or a pillow that makes it always warm. I myself use one chain that continuously casts an Aguamenti Charm that's heated to the perfect temperature. Makes it perfectly viable to take long, luxurious showers whenever I want!"

For some reason, the image of a showering Rita stuck in Harry's head and he felt something stirring inside of him. _What am I doing?_ He shook his head, but the image stubbornly remained. _Gah! What is this?! Why am I hard?!_

Unaware of the rampant puberty going on across from her, Rita tapped the letter with her wand and intoned, "Geminio." A perfect copy of the letter appeared next to the original with no fanfare. She then stacked the two together and copied them again, making four, then again and again until she had about eighty. "How many letters do we need?" She muttered to herself, waving her wand and getting a smoky 2 _586_. "Christ, what a bunch of needy bastards."

"Um, Rita?" She looked up to find Harry with red cheeks, having a hard time…meeting her gaze. "Where are Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia? Not that I'm glad for a quiet morning, they're usually up before now. Especially if they smell me cooking."

 _That's right, they're still beetles,_ she recalled. "Oh, I must've forgotten to cancel the Compulsion on them last night. I compelled them to go upstairs, eat and sleep and that's it. I'll go rouse them…" She paused in thought. "Actually, before I do that, why don't you grab a shower and change into some fresh clothes? Half an hour more won't hurt them."

Harry shrugged, playing with the hem of his shirt. "Okay," he murmured, "I'll do that."

She watched him quietly leave with a small frown, wondering why he was being so subdued, when her eyes bulged in panic. Hitting herself with Silencer, she raced up the stairs, jumping over Harry and turning into a beetle mid-flight, zooming down to squeeze under the master bedroom door. Popping back up, she quickly vanished the terrarium and the flora within, moving the Dursley-beetles to the bed and ending the transfiguration, before diving back under the door as it was pushed open.

Harry peeked inside and found the Dursleys as Rita had said, sound asleep on the bed. Shrugging, he left and went to take a shower.

Rita wiped the sweat from her forehead and sighed. _That was close._ She sniffed the collar of her shirt grimaced. _I definitely need to take a shower, too._ She directed her want to her quill, which was sitting inert on the table, and copied another stack of letters. Muttering under her breath, she set up a charm-chain that would speak the names aloud to the quill, which would then write it down before another charm moved it away and the process repeated itself until done.

Better than having to write it all out by hand. Laziness is the mother of invention, after all.

That finished, Rita spun on her heel and popped away, appearing in front of a small, dark stone cottage with a dingy wooden fence in front. Ducking inside, the room expanded much farther than the outside would suggest, large enough to comfortably fit a family of five. One corner was dominated by massive rolls of parchment and a large mahogany desk covered in scraps of paper, ink blots and discarded cups of coffee and tea, some having been there so long they'd solidified, gained sentience and had several kids.

Rita banished the mess with a flick of her wand and stepped towards the bathroom, stripping her clothes off as she went and tossing them into a hamper. The bathroom was also quite large, dominated by a massive claw-foot bathtub and a body-length mirror, with various bottles of tinctures, lotions and creams scattered around the sink.

The completely legitimate journalist stepped into the bathtub and turned a stone dial set into the wall, a blast of hot water shooting from the shower head and soaking her to the bone. She twisted it a bit and tapped the center, the in-built spells adding soap and shampoo to the water as it also massaged her. Rita gave a pleased sigh and luxuriated under the sensations for a few minutes, before regretfully turning it to rinse and then off.

She tapped another stone, a gust of wind sweeping out from the bottom of the tub, drying her completely and brushing her hair into their usual soft curls. Stepping out, she glanced at herself in the mirror and examined her body critically, smirking when she found nothing wrong. "You're looking a bit saggy around the tits, dearie," the mirror croaked in an old woman's voice.

Rita scowled and stalked off, calling back, "No I'm not, shut up!" While waving her wand and summoning a bottle of cream that she applied with another flick. The hamper turned to her expectantly and she stated, "Casual walking about clothes, please."

The lid flapped in acknowledgement before aiming the opening at her, firing freshly cleaned clothes at her with the bang and whistle of a party blower. The flying laundry hit her but made no impact, instead wrapping around her and dressing her neatly. Rita patted down her seams and sighed, picking up a letter from her photographer, Billy Ozziman, who preferred to be called 'Bozo' for some strange reason.

While they weren't friends, per se, Bozo was definitely friendly and liked to drop tips every once in awhile, tips he picked up while working as a photographer for the Daily Prophet and a reporter for Teen Witch Weekly. Apparently, one of the Chasers from the Holyhead Harpies had gotten pregnant and the father looked to be the Seeker for the Wimbourne Wasps, their championship rivals this year.

While juicy, Rita was content to let that story slide. Everything she learned from Harry would be worth a hundred puff pieces on pregnant Quidditch players, and that was just the small stuff.

Speaking of, the sneaky woman strode from her cottage and locked it behind her, spinning and appearing in front of Number 4 Privet Drive with a muffled pop. She heard conversation from the kitchen, and stepped in to find the Qwik-Quotes Quill had finished naming letters and was now carving the various swear words that were being bellowed by her speaking charm into the table.

She heard a quiet sigh from behind, spinning around to find a disheveled Harry standing there with written insults on his face. "I poked the quill," he said sourly. "And it wrote on my face. I've tried to wash it off about four times."

Rita couldn't contain loud laugh, tapping her hand with her wand and pulling him close, scrubbing his face with her fingers. The ink disappeared from his skin, leaving it somewhat pink. "Yeah, my quill doesn't like other people touching it," she said, flicking her wand as the speaking charm shouted 'ARSE!' and the quill dutifully etched it into the wood. The charm ended and the quill flopped onto the table, before she summoned it and the massive stack of parchment into her purse. "Ready to go?"

Harry nodded, rubbing his tender face with a sleeve. She eyed him critically, flicking her wand and resizing his clothes so that they didn't dangle from his thin frame quite so badly, though even toddler clothes would hang off him, the scrawny git. She also ran her fingers through his hair, trying to make it just a tad less messy. "Good luck with that," he muttered self-consciously. "My hair refuses to be any less of a nest."

Rita hummed and dipped her fingers in the sink, managing to get his hair to lie mostly flat. "There we go! All it took was a little tender love and care," she pronounced, chuckling at his reddened cheeks. "Now, onward!"

He dug his heels into the carpet, pulling them to a stop. "You have to wake up the Dursleys, remember?" He pointed out, arching an eyebrow at her.

"Oh right," she mumbled, hopping up the stairs and entering the master bedroom. She waved her wand over the sleeping arseholes, weaving more compulsions into them before waking them up. "You will go to work and be the most polite, respectful employee ever," she commanded Vernon, before pointing at Petunia. "You will bake plenty of biscuits and go door-to-door, giving them away," and finally, she turned her wand on Dudley. "And you will go with her, offering to take care of any chores that your neighbors need."

That done, Rita grabbed her jacket from her room and skipped down the stairs and out of the house with Harry on her arm. She summoned the Knight Bus and walked passed Stan Shunpike as he hopped out to give them his spiel again, pressing the money into his hand. "St. Mungo's," she said brusquely, planting herself in a seat by the handrail, with Harry in the middle.

Having cleverly maneuvered it so that the young Potter had nothing to grab onto but herself, Harry threw his arms around her as the bus shot off, his cheek once again becoming friendly with her right boob. Having expected the speed this time, Harry joined her in the quiet cheers of excitement as the outside world blurred, before coming to a stop, letting a young boy and his mother stumble down the steps to faceplant in the grass, before speeding off again.

Two stops later, Stan announced "Sain' Mu'go's!" and the two stepped off, both slightly dizzy. The skinny twerp peered around confusedly, finding them not in Diagon Alley like he expected, but a quiet market street in London. Most of the shops seemed sleepy, but the one they were in front of was definitely abandoned.

Dusty mannequins slumped behind the cracked, dirt-streaked glass and Harry nearly jumped out of his skin when Rita whispered, "Harry Potter to see a Healer," and a female mannequin looked up at them and nodded. The one beside it clapped its hands to its blank face and squealed silently.

Ignoring the quirks, the reporter pulled Harry through the glass storefront, stepping into a comfortable lobby filled with witches and wizards of all ages. A child of about six years was bouncing excitedly in his seat, the cactus growing out of his head bobbing gently while his sour-faced mother read a magazine. Next to him was an older wizard with a pipe stuck in one ear, smokes rings gently drifting out of the other, while a middle-aged witch next to him would occasionally turn green and vomit up a flamingo, which would join the quietly trilling flock around her feet.

Harry tore his eyes away as they walked up to the desk, a bored girl filing her nails behind it. "Welcome to Saint Mungo's, the Best Hospital for Magical Maladies in London, how can I help you?" She said with a sigh.

"We just need to see a general healer, and try to get a prescription for young Harry here," Rita explained, laying a hand on the boy's shoulder.

The girl sighed again, flicking through a book in front of her, before peering up at them through black bangs. "Healer Pembrooke is…" Her eyes widened as she took them in and realized who she was talking to. "…she's free right now, second floor, room 218."

Harry tilted his head quizzically at her while Rita smirked, nodding and leading the way to the next floor. Most doors were closed, but the occasional bark of laughter or the hooting of an animal would echo from them, along with an explosion once or twice.

In room 218, there was bed which Rita directed Harry to sit on, while she took a spindly chair next to a table covered in newspapers and magazines. They only had to wait a few seconds before the sound running reached their ears and an older woman, with light brown hair in a ponytail and murky grey eyes, skidded to a stop at their door, looking in with wide eyes at Harry Potter.

Blushing like a school-girl with a crush, the Healer stepped inside and closed the door. "Er, hi, Mister Harry Potter, sir," she stammered, playing nervously with her fingers. "I'm-uh, I'm Healer Pembrooke, I'll be taking care of you-I mean, healing-uh, I'll be your Healer for today."

"O…kay," Harry replied, drawing back slightly from the crazy woman. "What's going to happen?"

"Oh, I'll just use a Deep Scanning Charm to find out whatever maladies you may have, and then we'll seek treatment from there, okay?" She replied, still flushed but more professional. Taking out her wand, which was a rather short, dark piece of wood, she waved it around him like a conductor. A dark pink mist floated through the air, sinking into his body for a minute before seeping out, forming letters and numbers in front of the Healer.

Her frown became deeper as she read further, eventually becoming a dark scowl when she turned on Rita with an accusing finger. "Are you this young man's guardian?" She asked dangerously, fingering her wand.

Rita raised her hands peacefully. "I'm not, I'm just a concerned neighbor who moved in last week," she said carefully.

Healer Pembrooke eyed her suspiciously but turned back to Harry, conducting another spell that high-lighted his skeletal system in red. "You've a calcium deficiency," she muttered, eyeing his right arm. "Except for your right arm, which is healthy."

"The bones in my arm were vanished," Harry supplied helpfully, "They had to be regrown with Skele-Gro."

"That would do it," Pembrooke mumbled, flicking her wand and dispelling the smoky words. "Alright, Mister Potter, you've got quite the list, but nothing that can't be fixed with a regimen of potions. Moderate malnutrition, calcium deficiency, Sunlight deficiency (which is fairly normal for London), your glasses are completely wrong for your eyes, and you seem to have a slight drain on your magic, but I can't tell what's doing it. It does look like that now, with puberty hitting you, your body is drawing on your magic to make up for the nutritional deficiency."

"So, a prescription for nutrient potions and some new glasses?" Rita asked, folding her magazine and setting it aside.

"That's about it," Healer Pembrooke nodded, writing out her orders on a small notebook, tearing it out and handing it to Harry. "There's a new place in Diagon where the old glasses shop used to be, the shopkeeper will give you discount with this. I say 'new', it's been there five years, but not many know about it."

"Okay," Harry nodded, slipping off the bed. "Thanks for your help."

The Healer smiled and her cheeks burned a dark red, nervously shuffling her feet and looking at the floor. "It-it was my pleasure, Mister Potter," she mumbled, shakily holding out her notepad. "I know you must get this a lot but, could you…please-can I have your autograph?"

The Boy-Who-Lived to be a short-arse nodded meekly and took her quill, carefully writing his name on a blank page and handing it back. The Healer, a full-grown woman mind you, clutched the notepad to her chest like a favorite stuffed animal with a smile that was nearly blinding.

Harry, eager to get away from the weirdness, grabbed Rita's hand and dragged her from the room, his face aflame. One floor down, a piercing squeal ripped through the air, followed by a muffled thump as Healer Pembrooke fangirled with the force of a thousand suns and fainted in ecstasy.

…

He still hadn't gotten over his embarrassment by the time the Knight Bus dropped them at Diagon Alley, even moreso since he'd once again been forced to latch onto Rita lest he go flying about the inside of the bus like the world's scrawniest Bludger. Their first stop was the glasses shop, a bit out of the way from the main road, which would make sense that many wouldn't know about it…if it weren't for the ostentatious sign out front.

The letters were written in royal blue and trimmed with gold, each five feet tall, along with a giant pair of glasses with cartoon eyes looking pointedly at the shop below, reading:

 **Lookit Dewitt's Delightful Glass(es and Glass Accessories)**

Rows of monocles, bifocals and even the occasional trifocal sat neatly on silk lavender cushions, with frames wrought from gold, silver and bronze. One pair had its lens change color every few seconds, while another darkened to black and lightened repeatedly. And, in the far back, were a pair of muggle joke glasses, the ones with eyes hanging from springs; except these ones looked around independently.

Opening the door caused a strange melody to sound from the bells above; it sounded like a song, but not one Harry or Rita recognized. "Coming!" a masculine voice called from the back, followed by the sound of shattering glass and a muffled curse. A few seconds later a man came to the counter, clapping his hands and brushing his dark blue robes down. "Welcome! Have you come to take a look at Dewitt's Delightful Glass? And Glass Accessories?"

"Uh…yeah," Rita muttered, arching an eyebrow at the strange wizard behind the counter.

His robes were, as previously stated, a dark blue, the sleeves rolled up to reveal large, calloused hands. His hair was a dark, silver blond with a tidily trimmed beard, a pair of sharp blue eyes peering out at them from behind a pair of spectacles mounted on his nose. Another pair sat above those, resting on his forehead, while another sat atop his head.

He had broad shoulders and tanned skin, and spoke with a slight American accent. "Ah," he hummed, his visage dead serious. "Mister Harry Potter. I've been expecting you…"

Harry felt alarmed, and also a bit of deja vu. "You…you have?" He asked cautiously.

"Nope!" The Shopkeeper replied jovially, grinning. "I've been hoping you'd stop by, since I heard you wear glasses like your father. Before I took over the shop, the old Glass-maker made glasses for the Potter men, and I've been hoping to continue the tradition. Welcome to Dewitt's Delight Glass! I am Saul Dewitt, maker of fine Glasses and Glass Accessories. How can I help you today?"

"Um, a Healer named Pembrooke did a scan and said that I need to get some better glasses," Harry explained cautiously.

Saul jerked his chin down sharply, the two extraneous pairs of glasses sliding down his face and merging into one, as he leaned in closely and examined the young Potter's glasses. With a whirring click, the lens over his left eye extended out, focusing more deeply as the Shopkeeper lifted Harry's spectacles out of the way to look directly at his big green eyes.

"Hmm," he hummed meaningfully, squinting. "Yup. Your glasses are, indeed, pieces of shite. What, did you pick them at random from a bargain bin?"

Harry nodded, and the Shopkeeper frowned, as did Rita. "It's a good thing you're young," he murmured, now looking into the scrawny tit's left eye. "Your eyes adjusted to the strain, your magic probably had a hand in that. I can adjust the focus of the lenses if you're particularly attached to that pair, although I don't know why you would be, or I can whip up something for you right quick."

"I'd like to get a new pair, please," Harry murmured, fidgeting under the scrutiny.

"Wonderful!" Saul called, clapping his hands, reaching over and plucking the spectacles from his customer's nose and carelessly tossing them over his shoulder. "Now, what kind of design would you like? Also, what kind of features would you like added? It's a fairly expensive process, but I'll give you a discount, you did kinda kill a Dark Lord in your nappies."

Harry frowned minutely at the reminder, before cocking his head in question. "Features? How do you mean?" Rita tapped his shoulder and gestured at her face, reminding him of the conversation they'd had a few days ago.

"Well, there's Concealment Detection, what I like to call the Peeping Tom Trio of Wall, Clothes and Flesh Transparency, Auto-Adjusting Prescription, Eagle Eye Lenses, Color-Changing Lenses, Auto-Darkening Lenses, Magic Sight Lenses, and Ever-Clean Lenses," Shopkeep Dewitt listed, retrieving a book from under the counter and opening it. "Plus a few more esoteric charms, like one that lets you shoot magic from your eyes every Saturday…though, it's only a weak tickling charm."

"What about ones that obscure facial features?" The young Gryffindor asked.

"Makeover Lenses? We have those, too," Saul held up a finger. "But, be warned. You can only tie one charm to each inset crystal. It gets more expensive the more there are, naturally."

"Why is that?" Harry questioned.

The shopkeeper shrugged. "Because I grow my own crystals and I need to be paid for my time."

"No, not that," the younger wizard waved it off, "I mean, why can you only tie one charm to one crystal?"

"Because crystals have a very specific structure, it's what makes them grow as they do, and tying more than one charm or spell to that structure causes conflict in the crystal, which will either fail to work or explode," Saul held up a hand, showing the multitude of silvery scars decorating his fingers. "I learned that the hard way."

Harry tapped his chin in thought. "What about making the lenses out of crystal?" He asked shrewdly as Rita stepped away to look at the Glass Accessories decorating the shelves, including a section that seemed to be made up of glass or crystal figurines in the shape of various creatures. Most of which were multi-coloured unicorns.

"You're a curious one, aren't you?" The shopkeeper said approvingly. "Well, the problem with that is, I'd have to soak them in an Unbreakable Solution, otherwise they'd shatter after a month. As much as I like money, I prefer making things that work and stay that way for a long time. Also, I couldn't do what I usually do, soaking the lenses in an Ever-Clean Solution, and they'd get real dirty real fast, and charms never work quite right on a pair of spelled glasses."

"Okay," the curious git murmured, frowning in thought. "Rita? What do you think?"

"Hm?" The intrepid reporter replied, looking up from a crystal structure with oils suspended inside, shifting colors and shape randomly. "Well, that's up to you, isn't it? Most boys would go for the Peeping Tom trio, I'd think. What would be more useful for you?"

Harry thought over his time in Hogwarts, which was also the time where his life was in the most danger. _What would've been useful then?_ Being able see people sneaking up on him would've been great, and being able to find the Snitch easier would make Quidditch a breeze! "I'll take the Concealment Detection and the Eagle Eye Charms, please."

Saul grinned and clapped his hands, rolling up his sleeves once more. "Excellent, and so polite, too! Carving the runes and tying the spells to the crystals will take me a couple of days, but afterwards, you'll never need another pair of glasses again! And that, is a Dewitt Guarantee."

"How much will all of it cost?" Rita chimed in, setting a crystal ball that was tuned to the BBC back down.

"A hundred galleons," the shopkeeper replied immediately.

"Highway robbery!" The nosy reporter retorted, scowling.

Saul arched an eyebrow at her. "Lady, they'd be three hundred without the 'Dead Dark Lord Discount'. Quality costs money, you know," He tapped his chin in thought, frowning. "Although, if you're strapped for cash, Mr. Potter, I do have an idea…"

Harry eyed him in trepidation. "Which is…?"

"Ad revenue," he replied simply. "You know, if people ask you where you got your fabulous new glasses, direct them this way! Also, a picture or two for ads in the Prophet and the Quibbler would more than make up for the lost profits. And…" Saul summoned a bell from above the door with a flick of his hand, tapping it with his hand. "Say, 'I'm Harry Potter and this is my favorite store in Diagon Alley'."

"Uh…I'm Harry Potter, and this is my favorite store in Diagon Alley?" He repeated slowly into the bell.

"Perfect!" Saul beamed, chucking the bell back at the door. "In the meantime, let me loan you a pair of glasses so you won't have to stumble about blindly." He plucked a pair of round glasses off the stand on the counter and held them up to his face, peering through the lenses and holding his wand up to them, twisting it back and forth. "So, what else are you up to today? It's a lovely day for a walkabout, I should think, and I hear ol' Florean's having a sale on peanut butter ice cream."

Rita shrugged, not seeing the harm in answering. "We're just going to get a few potions, a few odds and ends, maybe some lunch."

"Odds and ends, you say?" Saul said seriously, peering at them over his glasses.

The reporter arched an eyebrow. "Yes…"

He hummed in thought, tweaking the focus on the right lens. "Well, if you're looking for the oddest ends, there's a little shop two doors down Knockturn Alley on the left. It's a good place to find the things you didn't know you were looking for, though the owner is a tad…eccentric." His lips twisted wryly. "If you do go there, you won't have to look hard. You can't miss it…literally."

Harry jumped in surprise when the spectacles were placed on his nose, the world leaping into crisp detail. "Wow," he murmured, blinking and taking in the sights that weren't subtly blurry around the edges. "Thanks, Mr. Dewitt."

"No problem, Mr. Potter," Saul replied kindly. "Now, I'll see you in two days…unless you want to buy some Glass Accessories?"

Rita waved him off, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder and leading from the store. "Perhaps later," she called, closing the door behind her. "Now, to Slugs and Jiggers. They'll have what you need to put some meat on those bones, Harry."

It was like the first time walking down the Alley all over again, Harry's jaw agape as he took in all the details he missed the last two years. The first time, he'd thought it looked rather drab for a magical market place, but now he could see all the subtle colours flashing in the shop windows, the quiet shimmer of light behind the letters on the signs. So taken in by this, Harry didn't realized they'd arrived until he was inside the Apothecary.

"Afternoon," the grey-haired old man behind the counter greeted. "What can I get for ya today?"

"We've got a prescription for nutrient potions that needs filling," Rita explained as Harry handed the slip of paper to the shopkeeper.

"Ah, Harry Potter, eh?" He grumbled, eyeing the short-arse with foggy brown eyes. "Ya just startin' Hogwarts?"

"Er, no," he replied confusedly. "I just finished my second year a few weeks ago."

"Eh?" The old man cocked his head. "Ya been goin' to another apothecary? Ya know ya own a large stake here, right? You're just throwin' money away, son!"

"I've been here before," Harry said slowly, "You helped me get the billywig wings down from the shelf last summer."

"Huh?" The old man cast his mind back. "Oh. I didn't recognize ya then, Mr. Potter! My old eyes ain't what they used to be. Let me just get what ya need." He drew a wand just as wrinkled as he was and flicked it multiple times, summoning a container full of bottles of a dull blue liquid and various jars of ingredients.

With shaking hands, the old man scooped up measures thick leaves, dirt-spotted tubers and the delicate wings of some sort of insect. "There ya are! Twenty doses of Nutrient Potion, and enough ingredients ta make twenty more. That'll last ya two months," He chuckled at the grimace on Harry's face, leaning on the counter and loudly whispering, "There's a secret ta makin' these more palatable, young man. Just add a dose to any kind of broth, and ya won't even taste the potion. Some free advice for ya, young man. That'll be twenty galleons, four sickles and twelve knuts, if ya please."

As Harry paid the man, Rita shrunk the potions and ingredients, storing them in her purse. They bade goodbye and continued their day, heading towards the Post Office to send the massive stack of letters and finally get some goodwill heading Harry's way from the masses.

Said Potter asked for a few rolls of parchment and and a quill to borrow when they entered, then buggered off to write a few extra letters as Rita dumped the lot on the counter to a rapidly paling postman.

Harry worried his lip, nervously tapping the quill on the table, trying to decide how to word his letters, given the subject. After all, how does one say 'I know there's a possible marriage contract between us, but I'm not ready to make a decision about something that important because I'm just about to turn fucking thirteen? And also two of you are in Slytherin and I've never even heard of the third?'

Well, just like that, actually.

There'd been somewhere around a hundred and fifty marriage contract offers, and out of all of them, only three were still valid; the rest having been invalidated through age, marriage, spell damage and death in equal amounts. The valid ones were for Pansy Parkinson, a Malfoy fangirl and general hanger-on; Millicent Bulstrode, a girl with a more-than-passing resemblance to a troll who said little and preferred to glare at everyone with beady eyes; and lastly, some girl he'd never heard of named 'Luna Lovegood', of all things.

Harry had doubted it was valid, seeing how it was drawn in pink and yellow crayon with doodles of strange animals and plants in the margin, but Rita had checked it with a spell and discovered that it was, in fact, valid and completely legal.

After a minute, he sighed and decided to go with his gut.

 _Dear Pansy Parkinson/Millicent Bulstrode,_

 _I recently discovered that there is a valid marriage offer between us. I know we aren't friends or in the same house, but I would like to get to know you better outside of Hogwarts before I make any life-changing decisions. If you'd like to do the same, or have me just shut them down, please reply and let me know._

 _Signed, Harry Potter._

 _Dear Luna Lovegood,_

 _I've just discovered that there's a valid marriage offer between us, and I can't recall ever meeting you at Hogwarts. I'd like to get to know you before I make any decisions, and I wondered if you'd like to do the same? Or cancel the offer, if you'd like._

 _Please reply._

 _Sincerely, Harry Potter._

Harry huffed, drying the ink before folding them into letters and writing the names on the outside. Carrying them up to the desk, he found Rita tapping her foot impatiently as the massive pile of letters was slowly vanishing. "I've got a couple more," he spoke up, sliding them across the desk.

"I'll add them with the rest," the postman said faintly, licking his lips nervously. "Um, you can leave…this will take awhile."

"What about payment?" The Boy-Who-Lived pointed out.

"Oh, uh, right," the young, pimply-faced youth scratched the back of his head nervously. "Well, it's two sickles per four letters…so, uh, let's say…fifteen galleons?"

"Okay," Harry replied, setting the money on the counter. "Have a good day."

"You too," the youth muttered, sighing. "At least the House Elves are having fun."

As they left the building, Rita stretched her arms above her head, her back popping pleasantly. "Well, I don't know about you, but I'm hungry," she glanced at her young companion, who was once again looking away from her with coloured cheeks. "What say you to lunch?"

"Sounds good," he replied, scratching his cheek as his frustration began to mount at his weird body. It was a short walk to the Leaky Cauldron, and they were late enough that the lunch rush was winding down. "Hi, Tom."

"Ah, young Harry!" The wizened bartender greeted with a toothy grin. "And who's your friend, here?"

Rita cut in as Harry opened his mouth, "Mary."

"Harry and Mary, a pair most merry!" Tom chuckled at his joke. "Anywho, what can I do for you two?"

"A spot of lunch, if you would," 'Mary' replied as Harry gave her an odd look. "What's on the menu?"

The bartender rubbed his hands together. "I've got some Shepard's Pie hot and fresh out of the oven!" He said jovially. "How does that sound? With some butterbeer to wash it down of course."

'Mary' nodded interestedly, even as the young Potter asked, "What's butterbeer?" The two adults turned nonplussed gazes on him, and he looked up at them in confusion. "What?"

"You've never had butterbeer?" Rita asked in a tone approaching horrified.

Harry shook his head. "No."

Tom knelt behind the counter and came up with two bottles, pushing them forward. "We must rectify this injustice immediately!" He announced, relieving the bottles of their corks with a smooth, practiced flick of his wrist. "Here, on the house. A boy's first butterbeer should be free."

The young Potter glanced at them dubiously, before gingerly taking the bottle and taking a sip. His eyes widened at the smooth, rich buttery taste, sweet but not overly so, with a pleasant fizz that made his tongue tingle. "Wow," he murmured, licking his lips. "I love it!"

"Haha!" Tom laughed with a grin. "Excellent! Alright you two, have seat and I'll be out with your lunches in a jiff."

Rita chuckled as they walked to a booth, Harry still sipping his butterbeer and making contented noises. "I like gillywater better, butterbeer's a mite too sweet for me, but I will admit that's got charm," she said, taking a draught of her drink. "Aah! Still good."

As she muttered something about magical drinks, Harry peered around as a wizard stood from his table, leaving behind a copy of the day's Daily Prophet. Finding no one was looking at him, the nosy little git leaned over and nicked the paper, the headline blaring: _Lockhart: Fictional Fraud or Fraudulent Fiction?_

It went on about the Lockhart experience in Hogwarts, how it became clear over the school year that the blond ponce was obviously incompetent in any fields besides looking pretty and memory charms. Harry recognized the stories he'd told Rita, though he was credited as 'an anonymous source'. It also pointed out that, in more than a few of his books, Lockhart had supposedly been locked in mortal combat with a deadly beast on the exact same day that year with a werewolf and a hag.

Apparition was a possibility postulated by the paper, but it also brought to light that his battle with the hag had gone on from sunset until sunrise; while his struggle with the werewolf had ended after midnight. There were other examples, but it was summarized with a call to investigate to the Department of Magical Law-Enforcement, and for Lockhart to offer remuneration for the affected parties.

Harry set the paper aside with a frown, fixing a surprised Rita with a hard look. As he opened his mouth, Tom appeared by the table with two plates of piping hot Shepard's Pie and fresh butterbeer. "Here you go, loves," he announced cheerfully, adding forks and spoons to their table. "Enjoy!"

And then he fucked off back to the counter, leaving a confused Rita and a staring Harry. "What's up, Harry?" The reporter asked cautiously. His reply was to push the paper across the table. "Oh, my latest exposé…I see they felt the need to change my title, hell if I know why, I thought it was perfect." She set it down and frowned. "Why's this getting your nark on?"

"Before I entered the Chamber properly, Lockhart erased almost all of his memories on accident. What's the point of dragging his name through the mud now?" He asked lowly, taking a bite of beef and tomato.

Rita blinked incredulously. "Harry…he put not only you, but you and your friend _and_ your friend's sister, in mortal danger. If he'd successfully Obliviated you, she would've _died,_ " she responded, sounding slightly offended. "Not to mention that the danger of the Basilisk would still be around. All of his books were purported as fact, as learnable material, and you know just as well as I that it's a bloody bundle of lies. If it weren't for all the examinations being canceled, I'm sure Hogwarts would've seen more repeating Seventh years than ever before!"

"That's true," Harry agreed, and Rita smirked, "But that was then. The last time I saw him, he was about five years old in his mind. Can he really be held responsible for what he did now, when he's completely unaware of pretty much everything?"

The nosy journalist narrowed her eyes in thought, not wanting to admit that most of it was for her own vindictive pleasure…as well as revenge for putting Harry in such a shite situation. A thought occurred and she refrained from snapping her fingers in triumph.

"What about all the people he's Obliviated?" she pointed out, "How many heroic witches and wizards are languishing in poverty when they should be recognized as heroes? Look." Rita sighed and ran a hand through her hair, the perfect picture of reluctance. "Lockhart, as he is now, is a child, and children need to be taken care of, and I'm sure he'll get that care. But the people he stole from…don't they deserve justice?"

Harry frowned, chewing a mouthful of potatoes and green beans thoughtfully. "I guess you're right," he admitted, sighing, and Rita struggled to not whoop in joy. "But…it still feels wrong, you know?"

"Harry, I'm a muckraker," she said with no shame, "I bring dirty things to light. It's not a clean job, but sometimes, you need to be a bit of prick to get your point across." Inside, she was cheering and chanting _I got him! I got him!_

He hummed and took a sip of his butterbeer, falling into contemplative silence. They finished their lunch that way, and only spoke when re-entering Diagon Alley.

"Want to take a look at that shop the glass merchant told us about?" The self-proclaimed muckraker asked.

The scrawny git nodded in agreement, still deep in thought, and they headed for Knockturn Alley, the clean streets becoming dingy and dark. There seemed to be some sort of spell cast on it, Harry decided, looking back over his shoulder and finding Diagon Alley to be still bright and sunny.

They walked two doors down to the left and turned into an offshoot, and found that Saul Dewitt had been understating how eye-catching the shop was. The letters on the sign cycled through blisteringly bright neon colors, and the shop itself couldn't decide if it was hot pink or cherry red.

 **Dewitt's Oddest Ends!** It proudly proclaimed. "So that's why he referred it to us," Rita muttered, "He must own this shop, too. Or a family member."

Harry stepped ahead of her, grabbing the door handle and leaping back as it turned into a rooster and pecked at his hand, squawking angrily. "You gotta stroke the cock, not yank on it!" A rough but familiar voice shouted from inside.

The disguised Skeeter rolled her eyes and grasped the rooster around the neck, giving it a few soft strokes before it purred and turned back into a door handle. "Men," she grumbled under her breath. Harry followed her inside, looking mightily confused.

"Thanks for stroking my cock!" The man behind the counter cackled, "It gets angry if doesn't get touched by somebody other than me after a while!"

The man looked exactly like Saul Dewitt, with a few key differences. First was that his hair was much longer and puffed out, like he'd been shocked repeatedly. Second was that his hair was also liberally streaked with silver, along with his wild beard; and thirdly, his left eye was a luminescent acid green.

He also didn't wear glasses.

"Welcome to Dewitt's Oddest Ends!" He cried, his voice rough and dry. "I've got so much strange shite, I don't know what to do with it! How 'bout you buy some?"

"You look quite a bit like Saul Dewitt from the glasses shop," Rita pointed out. "Any reason for that?"

"Of course!" He shouted as Harry stepped away to look at the cluttered shelves. "We're t-twins! I'm the handsome one, he's the successful one. And I'm smarter. And definitely wiser." His eyes went blank, staring at something a thousand miles away, his voice dropping to weary whisper. "So much wiser…"

"Are you sure you're not just the same person, changing your look between shops?" She asked shrewdly.

"Nope!" he replied cheerfully, pulling a photo out of his pocket and shoving it in her nose. "See that? Me and my brother at Christmas! He cooks ham like a champ."

Besides the hair and eye, the two were almost exactly identical, except one wore an ugly sweater with a gingerbread man on it and the words 'Get Baked!' above it; while the other wore a shivering snowman over the phrase 'Blue Balls'.

"Huh," the journalist muttered, stroking her chin. "Alright then, what's your name?"

"Solomon Dewitt, at your service! You can call me Saul, if you like!" he introduced with a flamboyant bow, just barely missing the counter with his forehead. "Go ahead and take a look around, feel free to browse! Whatever you want, you just might find here! Hell if I know where, though…"

He stepped around the counter, kicking over a trashcan that picked itself back up with a curse in a tinny voice. Rita glanced at an overfilled table, stacked high with various odds and ends, dismissing everything she saw…until she found a wand holster made from nundu leather and with a pattern just like her glasses. "Oh hey! I've been looking for one of these for years! How much?"

Solomon peered at it interestedly, his acid-green eye darkening to jade. "Five galleons, yo." He held out a hand, gesturing for it to be filled. "Come on, now."

Rita cackled and slapped five galleons into his palm. "Deal! These usually go for thirty galleons apiece, and this is a DMLE-grade one that's twice that! Ha!" She cheered.

"Huh," the crazier Dewitt muttered, eying her. "You wanna pay me sixty galleons, is what you're saying?"

The journalist recoiled with a squeal of "No!"

"Well then don't tell me how much it would cost elsewhere!" He shouted, his eye lightening to its previous caustic colouration. "Wait, when the hell did I get one of those?"

While they'd talked, Harry examined the shelves, picking up a few strange items, feeling them with his fingers. A few tingled pleasantly, so he kept them on hand while searching through the other items. He came across a long silver cylinder, trimmed with black and gold. "What's this?" He asked aloud, holding the opening up to his eye and finding it hollow. Harry turned it in his hands, finding a black button on the side that he pressed, unaware that the owner was coming up beside him.

A loud snap-hiss heralded a bright beam of purple light erupting from the cylinder, nearly spearing Solomon's face if he hadn't leaned out of the way. "Whoa!" He yelped, yanking the device from Harry's hands and turning it off. "Watch where you point that thing, young fella! You could've taken somebody's eye out, waving it around like that. I don't think you're old enough to handle this…"

As he set it on a higher shelf, Harry found something similar to a telescope, but smaller and colored pink and tan. "What's in here?" he murmured, holding the end up to his eye. Before he could make out any of the vague shapes, Solomon snatched it away. "Hey!"

The proprietor coughed delicately, tucking it away in a pocket. "That's uh, a #69 Kaleidoscope…it's not for kids," he said with quiet embarrassment. "Anyway, whatcha got there?"

The young Potter held up his findings. "A ring, a book and a necklace," he said, "They felt…tingly, I guess. Does that mean something?"

"Yeah, means they're for you," Solomon replied seriously, his eye becoming jade green again. "Hm…looks like a poison detection ring…or a ring that launches poisoned darts, I don't know. A journal that locks itself, and when other people try to snoop, it jumps up and beats them around the head, dead useful them things. And the necklace…hmm…"

He walked back around the counter, pulling a thick dusty tome out and dropping it with a bang, flipping it open and peering into the pages. "What is it?" Harry asked, leaning over the counter curiously.

"I just started looking, damn!" Solomon grouched, flicking through more pages. "If I had to guess…which I _do_ , because I don't know what half this crap does, I'd say it's an…Amulet of Courage? Wait, an Amulet of Dragons? No, that can't be right, that looks completely different…ah, I was almost right the first time! It's an Amulet of Encouragement! I think it makes you feel better about yourself."

Rita chimed in, holding up a short silver chain with a blue boot charm. "What about this?"

"That is a Bracelet of Don't-Step-On-My-Ass, giant wranglers and dragon tamers love 'em…"

Their voices faded away as something caught Harry's eye, hidden just out of sight except for a sleeve. He leaned farther over the counter, revealing more and more until he saw it in its entirety. A set of weighty robes, padded with what looked like scaled leather on the shoulders and around the forearms, with something like a chestplate underneath, along with thigh and leg armor.

Crossing the chest piece was a bandolier of sturdy leather, glittering runes etched in silver along its length, attached to a similar belt. Vials dotted the bandolier and belt combo, and Harry found himself drawn to it by a tingle he could feel all the way across the room.

An obnoxious wail tore through the air and his reverie. Solomon looked up in alarm, his eyes finding a blank clock set above the door. Gasping, he mantled the counter and grabbed the two by their shoulders, forcefully marching them towards the door. "Time's up, you gotta get out! Out, out, out-out-out _outoutOUT!_ "

"Will you at least say why, instead of shoving us?!" Rita demanded, finding it impossible to turn out of the owner's grip.

"Nope, nope, nope-nope-nopenopenope!" he chanted insanely, somehow not tripping over the mess on the floor.

"Can we at least come back?" Harry cried, vainly trying to look at the robes that had so enthralled him.

Solomone paused mid-step. "Yeah, sure," he replied with a calm nod.

"When?" the little nosy git asked.

"I dunno, maybe when you come to pick up your school supplies!" he responded, resuming his pushing. "And maybe summer Fourth Year, who knows? Not me, I ain't a Seer!"

With that declaration, he shoved them from the shop and slammed the doors, the lock dropping down with a final clunk.

Harry traded alarmed looks with Rita, and jumped when the lock clicked again, but quieter, and the door opened slowly, a sheepish Solomon poking his head out. "Uh, hey, you-uh, you gotta pay me…please?" He said with an embarrassed chuckle. "Five galleons, ya know."

The young Potter frowned, looking at the items in his hands. "But it was five galleons for the one thing, and this is four," he protested, nodding to the bracelet Rita clutched in her hand.

"Alright then, ten galleons, jesus!" Solomon snapped. "Now get out! Wait, no, I mean pay me, and then go away, okay?" He took the ten gold coins Harry gave him, counting them out slowly. "Alright, we're square, see ya in a couple months!" He said, somehow making a slamming door sound cheerful.

They stared at the shop in complete silence and confusion, then the sign turned black along with the walls with a loud snap.

"I don't…what?" Rita mumbled, massaging her temples. "What was that…?"

"It was weird," Harry replied, scratching the back of his neck. "And kind of scary."

"Yeah," the journalist agreed, turning away while eyeing the door cautiously. "…I need a drink…"

…

Arriving at Privet Drive, the two stumbled into the house, their legs heavy with fatigue. The smell of cooking food greeted them, along with the quiet chatter of the Dursleys. Petunia was standing by the stove, stirring a pot full of some kind of stew, a bowl of fresh salad on the counter next to her.

Vernon was in his chair, peering over the paper with jovial smile, while Dudley chuckled tiredly as he slumped over the table, reading the curse words carved into the wood. The patriarch had just said something quite comical, as he and his wife were laughing. They fell dead silent as the two magicals entered the room, eyes going wide.

"Harry, sweetie, why don't you take your new things up to your room?" Rita asked sweetly, her gaze promising pain to the Dursleys. "I'll also bet you've got some letters to read."

Harry nodded slowly, backing out of the room and heading upstairs. As the door closed behind him, the witch slowly and meaningfully drew her wand, her fingers white around it.

"N-now, there's no need for that," Petunia gulped, holding up her hands. "We'll be good! We've been good!"

Rita bobbed her head in agreement, saying, "I'm sure," agreeably, then hitting them all with a fresh wave of compulsions anyway. "You're perfectly happy and satisfied with how the day went, and can't wait to hear about what we got up in Diagon Alley. You're glad to hear that your nephew, who you _love_ , had such a busy but fulfilling day."

"Of course, my dear Rita!" Vernon enthused with a kind smile. "Always lovely to hear from the young chap, eh?"

"Indeed, you must've had a tiring day," Petunia agreed, fussing over Rita with motherly concern. "You look quite pickled, dearie, why don't you put up your feet and I'll pour you a nice cuppa before dinner, okay?"

Rita smirked darkly, sitting on the couch and crossing her legs with the satisfaction of a smug cat, before turning her nose up at Dudley. "You, Duddy or whatever your name is, you smell. Go take a shower."

The fat lad sighed tiredly, but stood up and shuffled from the room, passing by Harry's door as he entered the bathroom.

Harry heard the door shut as he sat on his bed, staring in horror at the pile of letters on his rickety desk. A soft hoot pulled him away from his depressed resignation, finding it coming from a stately black and silver owl, who held out a letter.

All that he could state with certainty was that script was girly, most of it having been repeatedly crossed out with angry splotches dotting the parchment. Under all of that were three words and a name.

 _Are you serious?_

 _Pansy Parkinson_

Harry flipped it over and scrawled _Yes I am_ , on the reverse before handing it to the owl. The owl hooted and grabbed it with his beak, escaping through the window with a flutter of feathers. The young Potter sighed, running a hand through his hair, then dropping it when he realized that Hedwig's cage was empty, the snowy owl nowhere to be found.

As if drawn by his thoughts, the flapping of wings came through his window, followed by a bird…who wasn't Hedwig, or even an owl. If Harry was familiar with birds, which he wasn't, he would've recognized it as an Andean Condor. The bird set a comically small letter on the desk, tapping it with its beak and squawking.

Somewhat terrified of the giant bird stuffed into his window, Harry cautiously reached for the letter and opened it, finding that it was only a few words longer than Pansy's.

 _Okay, Harry. Let's get to know each other. You go first._

 _MB_

Under the watchful eye of the condor, Harry quickly scribbled his response along with some things he liked and disliked, like his favorite color and arseholes, respectively. He tentatively handed it to the bird, who squawked again and snagged it from his fingers, jumping into the night sky with a loud thumping of wings.

The condor screeched at something, and that something made a familiar bark in retort. Hedwig's silvery-white plumage glittered in the low light of evening as she fluttered through the window and landed on Harry's desk, holding out her leg.

A thick roll of parchment was tied to it, and when Harry opened it (after stroking Hedwig's plumage and feeding her a few owl treats), it unrolled a few feet, then hit the floor and kept unrolling until it hit his closed door five feet away. Deciding he'd rather deal with it later, Harry rolled it back up and set it on his pillow, feeling his stomach growling at the delightful scents from downstairs.

He found Vernon and Rita chatting about nothing as Petunia served up plates of thick, meaty stew. When he sat down, he found his aunt and uncle to be pleasantly interested in his day, which he then relayed to them while feeling mightily bemused.

His aunt and uncle, when they weren't purposefully ignoring him and locking him out the conversation, were actually quite nice to talk to, and Harry even found himself smiling as he chatted with Dudley. Inwardly, he felt a pit of seething resentment gnawing at his belly. This is what it _should've_ been during all his years living at Number 4 Privet Drive, a cozy home with hearty food and easy conversation.

It ate at him something fierce that this, what he'd wanted for so long, was only happening because they were compelled by spells.

Rita, sensing his darkening mood, spoke up. "Petunia, dear, I'm sure you're tired. Why don't you turn in early?" At her protestations, the beetle Animagus replied, "Don't worry about the dishes, I'll take care of them. You cooked such a delicious meal, it's only right someone else cleans up for you!"

Acquiescing, the thin muggle put hand on her son's shoulder and led him from the room. "Thank you, dear. Now Dudley, let mummy read you a book before bedtime, it's been too long since I've properly tucked you in."

"I'll join you, my dear," Vernon chimed in, heaving himself from his chair and following his wife and son. "I'm right knackered meself, but I'd love to read along with you."

When the door closed behind them, Rita gave a contemptuous sniff and flicked her wand several times, the pots and pans and plates flying into a filling sink, as an invisible helper picked up the sponge and started scrubbing away.

"Alright, they're gone," she murmured, gently taking Harry's arm and pulling him to the couch. "What's wrong, Harry? You didn't have a nice time?"

"That's just it," he muttered resentfully. "It _was_ nice…it's the best supper I've had since I've lived here! It's just…it should've always been like that, you know? We talked and laughed and had fun…but, I just-I just can't forget that all the shite they've put me through! I…I wish they were like naturally, that they've always been like that…" Harry looked up at her pitifully, his large green eyes wet. "Is that selfish of me? To want that so badly?"

"Oh Harry," Rita whispered, cupping his cheek with her soft hand. "It isn't selfish, not at all. Everyone deserves a warm home, a loving family…and you, who've suffered so much in so little time…you deserve it more than anyone. It's not selfish…it's just right."

Harry bit his lip harshly, blinking away the tears that wanted to fall and instead scooted forward, tentatively wrapping his arms around her and laying his head on her chest. "Thank you, Rita," he mumbled into her shirt, squeezing her tightly.

Rita swallowed thickly as she leaned back, cradling his head to her chest, her lips trembling with emotion as something that burned white-hot roared to life in her bosom. "Anytime, Harry," she said lowly, running a hand through his hair. "Anytime."

…

Harry bolted awake, finding himself safely ensconced in his bed. The cracked face of his clock told him it was just 4 am, the sky outside lightening to a dark grey. Sighing, he flopped back down and scrubbed his eyes, recalling what had happened the previous night. He tried to go back to sleep, but his thoughts refused to settle.

He hated what the Dursleys were when they weren't compelled, but he knew that compelling them so much was probably bad, and he couldn't bring himself to say he wanted Rita to stop. He didn't, but he knew they should. But he didn't want to.

Harry wondered if that made him a bad person.

Giving up on getting more sleep as a bad job, the tired young wizard sat up, the scroll he'd placed next to his pillow rolling off his bed and onto the floor. _No time like the present_ , he decided, trepidation slowing his limbs as he reached for the scroll. With a tentative fingers, he unrolled the letter, the bottom four feet falling to the floor, and began to read.

The script was written in a long, flowing hand with lots of little loops, but was surprisingly easy to read, written in a silver ink that shimmered in the pre-dawn light.

As he read, Harry found that it was literally the life story of Luna Lovegood, from her birth to the present day, written in clear but completely fucking opaque detail, somehow. By the time he'd finished, the sun was halfway over the horizon and for the life of him, Harry didn't understand even half of what he'd read. He had the sinking feeling that he'd have to re-read it several times, possibly while taking detailed notes, to understand any of it.

One thing had stuck out, though, and it was something he was tired of not knowing about. Rita mentioned it, the Healer had mentioned it, even Luna Lovegood, possibly the strangest girl he'd never met, had mentioned it, but not one of them explained it! And it was getting on Harry's final nerve, not knowing what they were talking about!

Rita blinked awake, sitting up from bed and yawning widely, smacking her lips and faintly realizing that some dark shape sat on the foot, peering at her big green eyes. "Gah!" She yelped, jumping almost of foot off the bed (which was rather impressive, given that she was sitting), and clutched her wildly beating heart. "Jesus F., Harry! You scared the life outta me!"

"Sorry," he murmured contritely, while not looking all that contrite. "There's something I need to ask you."

The yellow journalist sighed, conjuring a glass and filling it with clear water. "What's up, Harry?" she asked, after taking a long drink.

His lips twisted in thought, Harry spoke as she took another draught. "What's puberty?"

Rita sprayed her mouthful of water on the patterned pink wallpaper.

…

…

…

…

 **A/N: Christ on a bike, I did NOT expect this to happen! I finished chap 51 of Still Not A Hero, then decided to read some of my other stories, refresh my memory. I read Old Soldiers and I was like 'Hey, I want to write more of the second chapter!'**

 **And then I read Scoop of a Lifetime and holy shit, it was like getting hit by a car and struck by lightning at the same time! Inspiration hit and washed away everything else!**

 **Seriously! I published chapter 51 and an hour and a half later, I had two thousand words for this chap, wrote on and off while I was making Thanksgiving dinner, and then finished it the day after! It's 1:40, Friday November 24th! That's a little more than two days!**

 **I think the only time I wrote this much in such a short amount of time was chapter 15 of Jinchuriki of the World-Eater!...Maybe. I don't remember. I bitched about my fingers hurting, that's how you can find it.**

 **And I'm not done, either! I'm gonna publish this on Tuesday or Monday, but this chap's done now and I'm seriously just going to open the next document and start on chapter four! I don't know how long this inspiration train will stay on the tracks, but I gotta ride it all the way, baby!**

 **Exclamation point!**

 **Big thanks to NorthSouthGorem, Kurogane7, AJR333333 and the boys on the Xbox!**

 **Stay Awesome!**

 **~Soleneus! Exclamation point!**

 **P.S.: Besides clothes and armor, I find that the thing I detail the most is usually food. It makes sense to me, I love cooking and was seriously debating becoming a chef for my career. Just something I found kinda interesting.**

 **Stay Awesome Some More.**

 **~still Soleneus**


	4. Give and Take OR Sharing is Caring

"What's puberty?"

The question had Rita giving quite an impressive spit-take, spraying water on the patterned pink wallpaper. Coughing, the reporter wiped her chin with her wrist while giving Harry an incredulous look. "What?!" She coughed. "You mean, you don't know about it?"

"Not really," the young Potter shook his head. "I asked uncle Vernon about it when the teachers brought it up in class, but he just said all I needed to know is that boys have pricks and girls have cunts."

Rita choked again, this time on empty air. The swear sounded so wrong, coming from Harry's mouth in such an innocent tone. "Well, that's not the only difference," she muttered, scratching the back of her neck. "Alright, how do I explain this?" She waved her wand, two smoky forms coalescing in the air; one shaped like a man, the other a woman. Both were naked. "Yes, boys have penises while girls have vaginas…"

…

Harry sat at the table, unconsciously tracing the swear words carved in the wood while his mind was miles away. Images danced through his head, pictures of the girls he'd met like Hermione, Angelina, Alicia, Katie, Susan Bones and Hannah Abbot, and even Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode, all while wondering what they would look like naked. This had been going on for hours now, and even his embarrassment was fatigued.

"You look a bit down about the chops, lad," Vernon spoke up, dining on a healthy breakfast of eggs, sausage and fresh fruit, "What's got you so blue, Harry?"

"Puberty," the pre-teen answered shortly.

"Ah!" the fat man nodded agreeably, "I know just what you mean, lad. I fretted for quite some time when it hit me, but I learned that you can't push it. There's nothing wrong with getting to know your body-"

 _I really wish I hadn't said anything,_ Harry thought around the mental screaming.

"-and really, it's only polite to make sure you both have a good time, and there's nothing wrong with finishing early. That's something you'll improve on with experience. Just make sure you're safe at all times. I hear the teen birth rates are up, and I'd hate for you to be in that statistic, my boy!" he chuckled jovially.

"Thanks, Uncle Vernon," the young Potter said faintly, desperately wishing he could shove a steel-wool-tipped Q-tip in his ear and scrub the last few minutes away. "I've…got some letters to write."

The corpulent drill enthusiast waved him off, his face darkening as the scrawny git left the room. "Bloody wizards and their bloody spells…when I can get free…!"

As if summoned, Rita popped up from behind his chair, an unsettling smile on her lips. "What was that, Vernon me old mate?" she said cheerfully, making him shiver in fear. "You want to get _another_ round of compulsions because you can't stop being a massive arsehole? Well, why didn't you just say so!"

Vernon stammered in vain as she waved her wand and covered him in blue dust. Blinking, he shook his head and checked his watch. "Ah, I should be off if I don't want to be late! Have a lovely day, Rita dear. I hear there's a new movie in the cinema, perhaps you should take young Harry out on a walkabout?" he offered, opening his wallet and handing her a few bills, "Dudders has got himself a job, mowing lawns around the neighborhood! What a little entrepreneur!"

As he left, the fat man gave his thin wife a kiss on the cheek, who walked into the kitchen and greeted Rita with a smile. "Morning, dear! Would you like me pull some breakfast together for you?"

"Please, and some for Harry, too. I think he'll be in his room a while yet," she replied, pouring herself a cup of morning tea. Having to give Harry 'The Talk' was not something Rita ever envisioned as having to do. And with the way her personal life was going, i.e. digging dirt and blackmailing people, she never thought she'd have to give it _ever_. And afterwards, he'd had a hard-difficult!-time looking at her, which was fairly normal. Actually, visiting the cinema was sounding like a good idea…as long as it wasn't a movie with sex in it.

The nosy reporter set her cup back down and magicked the plates of food Petunia filled to hover after her, heading up the stairs. She left her plate in 'her' room, because she still had articles to write and also had Harry's nutrient potions in her purse. She didn't bother knocking, simply pushing open the door and stepping inside, finding Harry perched at his rickety desk, reading letters.

Several were scattered on his bed with little checks on the bottom, while a few were crumpled up and shoved in his wastebasket, which was close to overflowing. "A mixed response, then?" She asked, smirking as Harry jumped in surprise. The piece of crap chair beneath him didn't find it as amusing, since the leg snapped and dumped his skinny arse on the floor, his head landing between Rita's feet while looking straight up.

And she felt like wearing a skirt that day.

In the three seconds it took for the scrawny git realize where he was, he burned the picture of striped panties into his mind, suddenly understanding everything Rita had told him earlier about boys and girls being different.

He scrambled away, face aflame as the nosy bint he was coming to think of as a friend chuckled loudly. "Already trying to get under my skirt, Harry?" she teased, turning mock-bashfully, "How scandalous!"

Harry blinked stupidly at her, heat burning in his cheeks and drawing the blood from his brain, and he said the first thing that came to mind: "What do you mean, 'trying'?"

Rita paused, staring at him with naked surprise as his blush went from his face to the tips of his toes (she knew for certain, he wasn't wearing socks) before tilting her head and letting loose loud peals of laughter. She stepped forward and grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling his head to her chest (which didn't help his embarrassment at all) and hugged him tightly.

"I like you, Harry," Rita managed between chuckles, "I really do. Let's go to the cinema later and catch a film."

Despite enjoying the position, a lot more than he would admit, Harry was confused. Weren't girls supposed to get angry when you looked up their skirts, even on accident? Whatever the reason, he did the smartest thing he could do and rolled with it. "Okay," he mumbled, pulling away, "Is that for me?" He gestured at the floating plate.

"Yup!" Rita chirped, directing one towards his desk before stopping it and frowning. "Oh right, your chair broke…and your desk isn't far away from doing the same." She pulled her wand from her purse and pointed it at the dilapidated desk, transfiguring it into a wide mahogany desk that definitely didn't resemble her own at all. To accuse her of so would be a dirty lie! His chair was repaired and then spelled to match, and his breakfast set down. "I also wanted to make sure you took your potion for the morning."

The scrawny little tit grimaced and cautiously took the bottle, uncorking it like he was defusing a bomb. "Smells like…meat?" He asked, peering at the murky blue liquid. Licking his lips, Harry tilted the bottle back, the potion slowly washing over his tongue.

He gagged loudly at the taste, which resembled an old sock stuffed with mud and went down about the same, but manfully drank it all down…then flopped on his bed, looking very green about the gills. "Urgh…"

"All the best potions taste like shite, Harry," Rita commiserated, rubbing his head soothingly. "Next time, let's cut it with some broth."

"…Is it possible to vomit up your own stomach?" The young Potter asked faintly. A deep growl emanated from his midriff. "Or for your stomach to eat itself?"

"With curses, yeah," the reporter replied, pushing the plate in his face. "Eat up."

And so he did, with a speed and ferocity that would've made Ron Weasley proud and jealous, though Harry didn't spill any of his food down his front, he was too hungry to waste even a scrap. And much like said Weasley, one plate just wasn't going to cut it.

With a casual flick, Rita duplicated her own plate and handed it to Harry, who scarfed it down just as quickly as the first. This repeated about five times until the young Potter finally stopped, once more blushing like a little punk. "Sorry," he muttered bashfully, wiping his mouth, "I didn't mean to…"

"It's alright, it just means the potion's working," she replied with a wink. "Even if you ate that much for every meal, it'll still take months to get you up to a healthy weight. The Healer _did_ say you had deficiencies, this was just jumpstarting the process. Even magic can't work with nothing."

"Still, it was kinda rude," he scratched at his cheek, feeling pleasantly full for the first time in his life. Even the meals at Hogwarts and the massive portions Molly Weasley had given him hadn't made him feel like that; there was always some sort pit in his stomach, and now there wasn't. "Um, I'm sorry for…well, what happened…"

Rita ruffled his hair, giving him a smirk. "I know it was an accident, Harry, I won't try and punish you for something that's not your fault. And, as awkward as the Talk was…" She bobbed her head nervously. "I'm glad you could ask me about it. If you need something explained, Harry, don't be afraid to come to me, okay? I'll do my best to help."

"Okay," he nodded, fidgeting on his bed. "I still have my summer homework to do, and Transfiguration…I'm not _completely_ pants at it, but some of the concepts are hard to understand."

"You do realize I'm an Animagus, right?" The beetle Animagus replied with an amused smirk. "If I cared enough, I could get my Transfiguration Mastery with contemptuous ease. By the time I'm done, you'll know Fifth Year theory backwards and forwards."

Harry arched an eyebrow in challenge. "Oh really?" he asked, unimpressed. "How about Charms?"

She gave him a quizzical look. "Have you not seen me throwing Compulsion Charms around like candy?"

He frowned minutely at that. "What about Potions?"

Rita crossed her arms triumphantly. "Oh yes, Potions are my second greatest strength. I can teach you how to brew fame and bottle glory…and I won't be a condescending arsehole while I do it." She tactfully didn't mention that almost all of her Potioneering skills came after Hogwarts, or that most of it went towards brewing Polyjuice and Veritaserum.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Harry continued, enjoying the byplay. When Malfoy boasted about his skills, it was really damn annoying, but when Rita did it, it was fun. Maybe because she wasn't a blond little ponce with daddy issues, and had nice boobs and frequently gave him hugs?

"I know more jinxes and curses than you can shake a stick at!" She boasted, hands on her hips like a superhero. "As long as that stick isn't a wand."

"What about Care of Magical Creatures?" He replied, smiling.

"Ha!" The yellow journalist laughed. "I _am_ a Magical Creature!"

The young Potter smirked. "So, not that much?"

Rita wilted, tugging at the end of a lock of hair. "Yeah, not really. They never really interested me that much…not unless they were made into boots or gloves…or my jacket. Opaleye leather's really comfortable."

"What about Divination?" He asked curiously.

"Who gives a shite about Divination?" she shot back. "You either have it or you don't, and pretty much no one does. Why'd you ask me about that?"

Harry shrugged, scratching the back of his head. "Well, I was planning on taking it as one of my electives Third Year…seems like an easy class." He flushed under her incredulous look. "What?"

"You defeated Voldemort two years in a row," she said slowly. "You know for absolute _certain_ he's not dead and gone…and you're looking for an easy class? I don't how to put this politely, Harry…but that's retarded."

"Hey!"

"It is," she insisted, all humor gone. "If you're going to survive, you need skill and power, because Voldemort has it in spades. And something as useless as Divination won't help you there."

"So what, I should take Arithmancy and Ancient Runes instead?" He asked sarcastically.

"Not Arithmancy. That's magical math and there's no faster way to make something boring than with _math_ ," Rita said with distaste. "Runes, definitely. Knowing how to make or break wards can save your life…and runes are so damn useful. You can do anything with Runes. _Anything_."

He still looked rebellious, although thoughtful, so she leaned over and put a hand on his head. "You want to protect your friends, right?" Harry glared at her, seeing the blatant manipulation. "I know you do. _You_ know you do. Don't make things harder for yourself…or them."

The young Potter sighed, putting his head in his hands. "I'll think about it," he murmured, sighing.

"That's all I ask," Rita replied quietly, brushing her fingers through her hair. "Now, I know you have more letters to respond to, and I've got an article to write. Let's do our things and then go catch that film after lunch, okay?"

"Yeah, alright," Harry nodded, moving from his bed to his desk. "Thank you for the food."

"No problem," she muttered, giving his head another pat before vanishing the duplicated plates and taking her leave.

The scrawny little lad scratched out another three replies before boredom took hold. Most the letters he had received were encouraging and understanding, recognizing that he wasn't at fault for not replying. But the world isn't all sunshine and rainbows, so a good chunk of witches and wizards lambasted him for making excuses. Some pompous puffed-up popinjay named Zacharias Smith had even told him that written excuses meant little, and that if Harry wanted to be sincere, he should give them monetary recompense.

Harry had spent about five seconds wondering if he was actually serious, then crumpled the letter and thrown it away.

Instead of continuing with the letters, as he only had a few score left, the young Potter turned his attention to the items he had received from strange man with wild hair and different-colored eyes. The ring of either detecting poison or shooting poisoned darts was shaped like a snake made of silver eating its own tail, with two white stones for eyes. There was extreme detail in the scales, and the metal was warm to the point that it felt alive. It fit perfectly on his right middle finger, and felt perfectly natural to wear.

The Amulet of Encouragement was about the size and shape of a chocolate biscuit, though made of beaten silver rather than delicious baked dough. It had a ten-pointed star or sun made of some smoky blue crystal on the front, and like the ring it was warm and sat easy around Harry's neck, though it did pinch his hand when he held it up the first time.

The journal was rather simple, covered in brown and white leather with a silver latch keeping it closed. Instead of a lock, there was a small imprint about the size of a thumb. Harry, being the curious little twit he was, pressed his thumb to it then drew back, hissing at the sudden pinch. The skin of his thumb was spotted with blood, but nothing that wouldn't heal in an hour.

With a slight click, the latch was released. Harry picked the journal up and opened it, finding to his surprise that the pages were already filled in, though there was no name.

He jumped when something tapped his window, looking up to find the stately black and silver owl that belonged to Pansy Parkinson sitting outside. Opening the window, the owl hopped inside and set a letter on his desk, giving a dignified hoot before helping itself to some of Hedwig's water. He was lucky the snowy owl was out delivering a letter to Luna Lovegood or she would've pecked his arse to death.

 _Dear Potter, or Harry I guess,_

 _I was surprised that you replied and that I also received an apology letter for the unanswered letters I sent you as a child. I guess that means you didn't actually know, then? That you weren't ignoring me like a massive berk, that you just didn't know?_

 _Alright, fine. I'm not stupid enough to dismiss a chance like this out of hand, so I'm giving you the opportunity to know me better. This isn't a one-way street, you've got to give to get._

 _My name is Pansy Parkinson. I enjoy flying, Transfiguration and magical creatures, and I dislike Potions, Herbology and History of Magic. Yes, a Slytherin dislikes Potions. Surprised? I don't care._

 _I've given, now it's your turn. And I swear if this is all some massive prank, I'll take your wand and shove it up your arse._

 _Pansy_

 _P.S. My owl's name is Morgan._

Harry set the letter aside and tapped his chin in thought. _She wasn't as hostile as she usually is. Maybe my idea that she's hiding something is true?_ Pansy liking flying and disdaining Potions was also a pleasant surprise, which presented a little string for Harry to tug on and unravel the ugly Christmas jumper that was Pansy Parkinson. Only time would tell if he liked what he saw underneath, and somehow this had all come back around to boobs.

His reply made it certain that he was in no way making a joke or trying to prank her, but seriously trying to know her beyond their meetings at Hogwarts. To that end, he told her what liked, such as flying, more so than playing Quidditch even, and that he also enjoyed Transfiguration; he just had a hard time understanding some of the material. He hadn't gone into Potions dreading the class, but Snape being a giant fucking twit made it his least favorite. And, despite Quirrel having Voldemort-shaped tumor under his turban, and Lockhart being the most prolific pompous ponce to ever ponce past a poncing parlor, Defense Against the Dark Arts was his absolute favorite class.

"Here you go, Morgan," he handed the letter off to the owl, who took it and a head-rub before departing. Now deprived of that distraction, Harry cracked open the journal and began to read.

 _Journals are stupid._

The scrawny git rolled his eyes. What a great way to start a journal.

 _But 'Father' insists I start one, to uphold the grand tradition of our family writing inane shite down for future generations. Like I can write anything interesting! I'm just going to Hogwarts, 'like my father, and his father before him!' as Father likes to say. What would I experience that they didn't?_

 _And he hasn't let me read any, either._

 _Hopefully I'll actually get to meet some muggleborns. Mother blathers on about how dirty and evil they are but she's a massive bitch, so I'll take her opinion with a mountain of salt. Their world intrigues me so much! They don't have the creatures, the potions or even plain magic and yet, they thrive. Mother says that's because they belong in the mud and offal of mundanity, but again, massive bitch, mountain of salt._

Harry jumped again as a massive shadow descended on his desk, but he realized it was Millicent's bird, dropping another missive off. It clutched what seemed to a large rat in its talons and after dropping its cargo on the desk, politely turned around and began eating it.

The young man made a mental note to learn the Silencing Spell as soon as possible.

The letter was longer than the last, though a grocery list would longer than Millicent's last message.

 _Harry,_

 _His name is Conan, and he's a Condor. He looks intimidating, but don't worry. Scratch him under his beak and he'll melt into a big feathery pillow._

 _And I want to get this out of the way: Yes, I am part Troll, but not Mountain Troll, Forest Troll. Actually, my mother's the daughter of a Forest Troll and a dryad, and no I don't know how that worked and I won't ask. I only got the size and muscles, and luckily that not the green skin. I doubt I would've lasted long in Slytherin if I did._

 _I also got a green thumb from my mom's side of the family, which makes it hard in Potions. We're good at growing things, not chopping them up and stewing them. Except for food, oddly. You haven't lived until you've tried my mother's Oak Bark Chicken._

 _I heard from Pansy that you have a contract offer with her, too. I know she can be rude, but give her a chance, please. She's not that bad when you get to know her._

 _And my favorite class is actually…please don't tell anyone. It's Charms, alright? I have fun there and it's really easy to 'accidentally' smack people with my wand. Herbology is a close second._

 _Tell me what it's like to grow up with muggles. Even for wizards, my family's pretty strange, but I've never heard what living on the muggle side is like._

 _Looking forward to hearing more from you,_

 _Milly_

 _P.S. Call me Milly._

Well, at least she wasn't as suspicious of his intentions like Pansy was, Harry thought as he made his reply. And it was nice to know that she did have some troll in her, and that he wouldn't have to find a polite way to ask. But there was still something he definitely wanted to know, and that was what her problem with Hermione was. She'd been very bossy the beginning of first year, but she'd eased up loads after he saved her from the troll.

Conan the Condor croaked questioningly, his beak covered in wet blood with a strand of viscera hanging from one side, and Harry decided to try scratching him under the beak later. The massive bird took the letter in his talons and took a quick drink before flapping off, staining the water red.

After refilling the bowl, the young Potter got back down to business. Those letters wouldn't write themselves, at least not until he found the right charms.

…

Hours later, Harry and Rita found themselves walking down the road after stepping out of a bus. The cinema wasn't _that_ far away, but the reporter wanted to get there for the evening showings, and walking wouldn't work. Neither would apparating, given that it was a muggle neighborhood.

The buttery smell of popcorn and fast food drifted out of the cinema, the posters proudly proclaiming their products plastered in front. Looking over them, Rita instantly crossed out the romance movies, plus the R18 movies. Sure, with her there Harry wouldn't have any problem getting in, but she didn't want some ultra-violent swear-fest to be her young companion's first movie experience.

She settled on Jurassic Park, which seemed to be a movie about a wildlife preserve dedicated to the protection of wingless dragons. Seemed peaceful enough to her.

After getting their tickets, Rita ordered a large bucket of popcorn to share, and a pair of colas individually. Harry thought the theater fare was a bit too salty and too sweet, respectively, but enjoyed the atmosphere nonetheless. His grumbling stomach had no such complaints, however.

The young Potter was excited to see his first movie, and when the lights dimmed he fixed his eyes to screen and ignored everything else, except to scarf down a handful of popcorn or sip his drink.

Rita's assumption proved to be about halfway wrong, seeing that it _was_ about dinosaurs, i.e. wingless dragons, but it was far from peaceful. Enraptured though he was, Harry was actually somewhat bored. Sure, the dinosaurs were big and scary, and they looked like they were about to jump out of the screen and start eating some bitches, but they couldn't kill with a look and weren't thirty meters long. Well, not the Raptors or the T-Rex, anyway.

Speaking of the Raptors and the Basilisk, the scene where the two kids snuck around a kitchen, trying to avoid getting eaten, naturally, brought back memories of the Chamber of Secrets, when he snuck around the dinghy pipes and dirty water, trying to avoid getting eaten.

He also thought the girl was cute, but that's neither here nor there. What _was_ is that Harry decided that Hagrid should never see this movie, because he would definitely want some of his own dinosaurs. He could imagine the Raptors stalking through the Forbidden Forest, tearing Acromantulas to shreds while Hagrid shouted 'Clever girls!'

All in all, his first experience was a positive one, and as they walked back towards Privet Drive he thought that movies were somewhat like flying, though with less personal danger and exhilaration.

"It's a good start, but we need to get you caught up," Rita enthused, practically skipping down the sidewalk. "We need to start with the classics: James Bond, Highlander and Star Wars. I'm thinking I'll send the Dursleys off for a day, and we can have a movie marathon. That sound good?"

"It does!" Harry cheerfully replied, the journalist's mood infectious. This ended abruptly when a nasally voice cut in.

"Can I bum a fag?" He was an older teen, wearing torn jeans and a leather vest over a heavy metal shirt, with lank blond hair and piercings in his lip, nose and eyebrow. The term delinquent sprung to mind, as did 'tryhard'.

"Nope, I don't smoke, sorry," Rita said tightly, not happy her mood was brought down by some smelly berk.

The delinquent sniffed and hummed, sticking a hand in his pocket. "Well, how 'bout you give me everything in your purse and I'll buy the fags meself?" He withdrew a switchblade, the blade emerging from the handle with a click, and pointed it at Rita's side. Being a little over a foot away, he would have to lean forward rather hard to stab her, but it was still doable.

The beetle Animagus blinked incredulously. "Are you mugging me?" She glanced up and down the street, noticing that no one else was close enough to care.

"Yeah," the tryhard replied bluntly, looking down at her purse. "Actually, just give me whole thing. Bet I could flog the lot for nice little packet."

"Ah, but you wouldn't want to do that," Rita announced, appearing completely calm, subtly slipping a hand into her purse. "You see, I'm a witch. I'll cast a curse on you."

Harry looked up at her in confusion, his tense stance lessening. The delinquent snorted. "Right, the only thing you could curse me with is crabs," he leered at her, licking his lips. "I bet you got quite a witches' cauldron under that skirt, but I don't have time for that. The purse. Now."

In answer, Rita brought her left hand up and pinched her fingers together. A ball of light, about the size of Christmas bulb, blinked to life at her fingertips, the delinquent jumping in shock. And then she moved, twisting on her heel striking out with her right hand. If they could've seen it, a pugilist would've noticed that her stance was very good, the punch well executed with the turning of the shoulders and twisting of the hips to give it an extra punch, so to speak.

In the light of her wandless Lumos, the heavy gold rings decorating her knuckles shimmered briefly before they crashed into the delinquent's jaw, spinning him around into a pair of garbage cans where he stayed, legs in the air.

"Stupefy, fuckwit." Rita shook her hand out, slipping off the rings and putting them back in her purse, then taking Harry's arm and leading him away from the senseless tryhard. "Sorry about that, Harry."

The young Potter shrugged, unperturbed. "It's alright. Why'd you do that, though?"

The nosy bint snorted. "When some massive great twat strolls up and demands my purse, I am well within my right to lamp 'im one with a knuckle duster made from my grandma's shitty ornate rings." She arched an eyebrow at Harry. "You don't seem to be that bothered, Harry."

"I'm not," he replied calmly. "Voldemort was scarier, the Basilisk was scarier. I was worried a bit about you, but I knew you could handle it. I don't care that you punched him, I'm just wondering why you didn't cast a spell."

"Well, the law prohibits casting spells on muggles unless they're threatening your life; and the only life that idiot was 'threatening' was his own," she snorted disdainfully, before smirking. "Did you like the little light show I made?"

"Yeah, that was wicked!" Harry enthused, nearly jumping in excitement. "I've seen you casting without saying anything, but I didn't know you could also do it without a wand!"

Rita giggled, ruffling his hair pulling him in for a one-armed hug. "I'm glad you're impressed, because that's the only spell I can cast wandlessly. And you want to know how long it took me to learn?" At his nod, she leaned in and whispered, " _Five_ years."

"Oh," the little Potter blinked. "It must be hard, then."

The yellow journalist refrained from making any inappropriate jokes. "Very hard. Only a few witches and wizards will ever be able to wandlessly cast one or two minor spells in their life. That I did as young as I am is a nice little feather in my cap." She clapped her hands. "I don't know about you, but I'm ravenous. What do you say to some curry?"

"Is it spicy?" Harry asked curiously.

Rita bobbed her head. "It can be," she smirked playfully. "We'll want it to go, though. You've got another nutrient potion to take, and we wouldn't you to eat them out of business, eh?"

…

When they got home with servings of curry, rice and naan bread, Rita duplicated them a whole load of times until it appeared they'd ordered out for a football team. Harry had taken his dinner in his room, embarrassed to eat so much in front of his relatives even though he'd seen Dudley pig out enough times to make a troll sick. Petunia boiled him a cup of broth and he downed it, finding that mixing the potion did indeed make it taste like the broth.

After savaging several boxes of takeout like an hungry dragon in a sheep pen, Harry looked up to find Hedwig back in her cage with her head under a wing, somehow managing to sleep through the massacre taking place nearby. She had returned from her delivery and deposited Luna's reply on the desk, which was once again a very large roll of parchment. With some trepidation, he unrolled it and found it to be only three feet long this time.

Once more, her reply was almost entirely literal, completely explaining why she liked what she liked (Charms, since her mother was the type to experiment with spells), Runes, (because her mother was studying different combinations of runes and spells together to see if they created something new), and magical creatures (her father was a magizoologist, looking for new kinds of creatures…and eating them. He was dab hand at Gulping Plimpy soup, which Harry had never heard of and never wanted to try).

She also liked Potions but disliked Snape a whole bunch, because his 'negative aura' often made students make mistakes, which led to lots of explosions and explosions are bad, because her mum died in an explosion.

Harry skipped that section, painfully reminded of his own mother's absence while trying to avoid feeling envious that Luna had at least _known_ her mother before she died and remembered her afterwards. Bad thoughts lay down that path.

From what he had gathered from the two letters they exchanged, all thirteen feet, Luna was an extremely strange, somewhat loopy, but very sweet girl in desperate need of a friend other than her also extremely strange, _very_ loopy father. She'd mentioned Ginny Weasley as a friend who grew apart into casual acquaintances over the years, and they'd rarely talked first year. Harry knew it was because of Tom Riddle's diary but Luna didn't seem to be angry, just resignedly disappointed.

Normally, Harry would've pondered his next course of action, gone over the pros and cons, then decided not to, but he was feeling encouraged and bolstered by a full stomach. So, in his reply, he offered to either come visit Luna at her house, or bring her to Privet Drive.

He sealed and sent his letter, sighing happily before freezing as he realized what he'd just done. With the Dursleys not being twats all the time, along with eating well and enjoying an actually nice summer for once, he'd forgotten that he hated Privet Drive and had no friends there. Hopefully, Luna would invite him to the Rookery, her house, and he'd get to experience another magical home that wasn't the Burrow.

With it now out of his hands, the young Potter opened his journal and continued reading where he left off. Whoever had owned this journal before had been a pureblood, but not a bigot as many of them, and more curious than disdainful of muggles. It was a stark reminder that not every pureblood was an arsehole, and the Weasley's didn't count. He associated purebloods with wealth, sophistication and snobbery, which the red-headed clan had none of.

 _I'm on the train to Hogwarts. I wanted to come in through the muggle station, but mother turned up her nose and hexed me for the suggestion. 'Only blood traitors and mudbloods come through the muggle station,' she sniffed. 'And there will be no blood traitors in my house.'_

 _I wonder if Hogwarts has the same stance on punishment? I'd rather not get whipped in front the whole school, it's already bad enough when Father's watching, so I'm not going to make any trouble. Just a nice, quiet year of studying and learning._

…

 _Sorting's come and gone and just like it was expected of me, I'm in Slytherin. I actually had to beg the hat not to put me anywhere else, it was dead-set on Ravenclaw. But, once I'd explained my reasons, it understood. And it also told me where I could find a text on medical potions._

 _The Head of House is a fat walrus named Slughorn, who's surprisingly upbeat and definitely not as dreary as I expected from the man whose House resides in the dungeons. I could do with less arse-kissing, though. I know my grandparents were famous, but for fuck's sake they've been dead ten years and my parents have been riding their Merlin-damned coattails since before!_

 _Not that I'd tell him that, I'm not stupid. Potions aren't my favorite and having a Potions Master as a tutor isn't something I'm going to pass up, especially one that's well-connected. He also had stories about my grandparents, like how he'd been allowed to view one of their rituals. He also gave me a copy of his book on the same, autographed by them._

 _I wish I'd known them. Or maybe not, seeing how their daughter turned out to be a massive bitch._

…

 _First day's gone and I don't feel any different. Am I supposed to be excited? There's too many prattling paintings, shifting staircases and pretentious portals! How the hell does anyone get around in here?!_

 _A good thing: I'm definitely ahead in class. Charms is starting with Lumos, which I've been able to cast for about a year now, and Transfiguration had us turning matchsticks into needles, which I've been able to do for six years. Sewing is oddly relaxing, even if I'm crap at it, and House Elves really know their stuff if you get them to sit still._

 _There was this other thing. Some girl in Gryffindor. Red hair. Green eyes. A nice smile. I didn't catch her name, but she had a lily embroidered on her bookbag, so I'm going to call her Lily…until I actually find out what her name is. Which should be tomorrow, seeing as Gryffindor and Slytherin have Potions together._

 _I wonder if I'm overdramatic?_

A soft knock came from his door and Harry turned around to see Rita standing by his door, sleepily scrubbing her eyes. "What're you doing still up…" She yawned widely, stretching her arms above her head. "…Harry?"

The dozy tit tilted his head in confusion before glancing at his clock and realizing that it was past one in the morning. "I didn't realize…I was just reading this journal," he explained, holding the book up. "It's really interesting."

"I bet, if it's kept you up this late," she replied tiredly, scratching her stomach. "You should…catch some sleep. We're going back to Diagon tomorrow."

Harry thought for a second. "Oh, right! My new glasses!" Then he was excited and frowning. "I don't think I can go to sleep," he said with a grimace, "I've got too much energy."

Rita stared at him stupidly for a few seconds, long enough for him to realize that she was wearing only a t-shirt and a pair of panties and, his mind was quick to point, they weren't the same striped ones she had on that morning.

Meanwhile, away from Puberty-land, Rita was debating the merits of her idea before thinking _Fuck it! I'm too tired for this!_ So she closed the door behind her, turned off the lights and pulled Harry onto the bed with her, struggling mightily with the bedspread before managing to cover them both. She ignored his squeaks and pulled him close so that she was the big spoon and he, the little. She nuzzled his hair and bade him goodnight, falling asleep within seconds.

Harry barely made an effort to struggle, sudden fatigue and embarrassment weighing his limbs. Eventually he gave up and settled down, Rita's arms around his chest and the back of his head pillowed by her breasts. As comfortable as it was, he was just glad he was facing away from her.

…

Hours later in Scotland, the sun was beginning to rise over the mountains surrounding Hogwarts Castle. Beams of warm golden light shone through the open window in the Headmaster's office, just as he sprayed his morning tea in an impressive arc over his desk. "How was that?" he asked his Phoenix, Fawkes.

Fawkes trilled and bobbed his head, doing a little dance on his perch.

"Only a six?" Dumbledore asked incredulously. "But the arc! The light! It was all perfect!"

The Phoenix barked, flapping a wing.

"Oh. I guess you're right, a genuine look of surprise is hard to pull off when you aren't genuinely surprised," he grudgingly agreed, refilling his teacup and taking a sip as a common brown owl fluttered in through the window to land on his desk, the morning edition of the Daily Prophet attached to one leg. "Ah, good morning Xilius, how was the flight?"

The owl gave something approaching a shrug and a hoot, holding its leg out. Dumbledore detached the paper and gave it a few knuts as payment, and it departed with a bark and snatching a lemon drop from his desk.

"See, Fawkes, other birds like my candies," he said smugly, untying the paper and smoothing it out. Fawkes trilled and cocked his head. "Yes, I know you're not 'other birds', Fawkes, but you've used that excuse three times this week. When are you going to give them a try?"

The Phoenix just stared at him silently.

"Alright, fine. I'm still going to try, though, I know you'll like them," Dumbledore muttered resentfully, taking a long draught of his tea and looking at the first page. The headline, like always, was in large block capitals on the front.

 **HARRY POTTER FINALLY REPLIES TO YEARS OF LETTERS**

By Rita Skeeter

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, spat out his tea in surprise, choking on the bit that was halfway down his throat. "Bollocks!" he cried.

Fawkes squawked and danced again, this time more excitedly. It would've translated to _Nine_ , had Dumbledore bothered to pay attention _._

…

Harry's final thoughts before succumbing to sleep proved to be too tempting a target for Fate, as he woke up turned towards Rita, his face buried in her cleavage; her _bare_ cleavage as at one point, she had twisted around and caught her shirt under her hip, which pulled the collar down and allowed him to be one shake of the head away from a motorboat.

He could feel her heartbeat through his forehead.

Not only that, but his morning manly issue was pressed flush against her thigh.

Harry froze in mortification and no small amount of fear as Rita stirred and he fervently chanted _Don't wake up don't wake up don't wake up,_ which proved inadequate to deny reality. "Hmm," the half-awake reporter grumbled. "What's poking me?"

With admirable speed for such a skinny git, the pubescent Potter bolted from the room while snatching up some clothes and racing into the bathroom.

Rita giggled tiredly, shifting under the blanket and rubbing her eyes, then adjusting her top to not be quite so revealing. "Oh Morgana, something's wrong with me," she murmured, suddenly wide awake and staring at the ceiling. "I just slept in a twelve-, almost thirteen-year old's bed, which was most restful night in my life, while he pretty much got a faceful of my tits…and then I teased him about his erection. While he was touching me with it."

She wondered if that was what sinners felt like when they realized their depravities. Then she discarded that thought, because religion was for superstitious idiots and muggles. There was no one she cared to listen to who might judge her. After what she'd gone through, she deserved to find some fucking happiness, dammit. So what if it came from a pre-teen? He'd stop being one in less than a month and as far she was concerned, that made it perfectly fine. How many times had she seen or had someone many years her senior admit to having relations with someone far younger than they?

All of those people were worse than she was. When they did it, it was reprehensible. When she did it, it was not only justifiable, but perfectly acceptable because she wasn't them.

And it wasn't like they'd had sex. Harry just had the Talk the day before, he wouldn't know how to start, let alone how to finish. A thought occurred to her: _everyone_ remembered their first sexual experience, she certainly did. And while it wasn't the best and the boy she'd had it with had been a bit of prick, she still looked back fondly on the experience. If she was the one to give that to Harry, to show him what sex was like, it would cement her as the main pillar in his life.

Rita was responsible for making his home feel like home, for making his relatives actually likeable, for helping him discover more about his family and getting him more contact with the Wizarding World at large, even a couple of marriage contract offers! It would take a bit more time for it to become permanent, but she had already laid the foundations and had the blueprints for a mansion.

The journalist grimaced, feeling an uncomfortable churning in her gut. As much as tying Harry to her that much further was tempting, she still had morals. Some. Not a lot. So sex was off the table, but sex wasn't all a woman could show a teen. Still, thirteen was a magically powerful number, and her little black book had some pointers for rituals that would enhance and increase her youth and looks.

So no sex, not until later when he was actually a teen and more comfortable with his body. But what teenage boy would refuse some hands-on assistance?

It would be a good thing for Harry, even. With some of his tension released, he'd be less susceptible to the wiles of the suddenly blooming girls in Third Year and his own raging libido.

 _Yes,_ Rita thought, _that's right. I'm helping Harry. Myself, too, but what's a little give without some take?_

…

Harry was desperately trying to avoid looking at Rita as they apparated into Diagon Alley, even as he stumbled on the cobbled street after the spinning stopped. Being squeezed through a tube was definitely not his idea of a fun ride.

Rita sighed and rolled her eyes as Harry very deliberately looked everywhere but her. _Looks like I'm gonna need to remind him that it wasn't his fault,_ she thought dryly. _I hope this guilty nature doesn't last. There are way too many people who would take advantage of that._

Dewitt's Delightful Glass(es and Glass Accessories) was only a few shops down the street, so Harry didn't have to try and avoid conversation. As they stepped in, the bell above the door gave a different chime, followed by a hesitant " _Uh…I'm Harry Potter and this is my favorite store in Diagon Alley?"_ Harry winced at how confused he sounded in the recording.

"Mr. Potter!" The smooth voice of Saul Dewitt called as the man himself emerged from the back, a wooden case in his hands. "I was just about to send for you! Good to know you've the sense for dramatic timing, at least."

"…Are those?" Harry gestured at the box.

"Yes indeed!" Dewitt announced cheerfully, setting the box on the counter, unlatching it and turning it around as he opened it slowly. It was all very dramatic. "Like what you see?"

The frame was made of light gold that shined in the light, looking thin and a bit delicate while also being surprisingly resistant to damage, with round lenses and the Charm-tying crystals at the base of the legs. Harry thought they would look like Rita's being somewhat large and ugly, but the crystals were more subtle as decorations.

So yes, Harry did, in fact, like what he saw. "They're amazing," he breathed, unconsciously reaching for them when Saul lightly slapped his hand away.

As the young Potter gave an offended face, the Glass Maker explained. "This is the best part of my job, Mister Potter," he said archly, peering sternly over his glasses. "I won't have you taking that away, famous or not." He reached over and pulled the spectacles from Harry's nose, setting them aside to be cleaned before gently taking the new glasses from their case and setting them on the last Potter's face.

Then, with a single finger to the bridge, he pushed the glasses home.

It was like seeing for the first time. Harry thought the other pair were amazing, but these blew them out of the water, recovered the body and displayed it on their mantlepiece. He could see the detail in everything, even the air if he squinted enough. He turned to Saul with a wide grin…then jumped back with a yelp as got a very, _very_ close look at the man's nose.

"Ah, got a close-up of my handsome mug, didja?" Mr. Dewitt said with a knowing smile. "It'll take some getting used-to when it comes to the Eagle Eye Lenses, but all you have to do is squint and think of looking closer. I would recommend that you find something short and linear, like a hallway, and practice walking it up and down until you stop walking into walls. Peripheral vision is important, you know."

Harry shook his head slightly, thinking of not looking so closely at the Glass Maker's schnozz and sighing in relief as his visions pulled back. "Thank you, Mr. Dewitt," he said earnestly. "They're amazing."

"Damn right," Saul chuckled, rubbing his hands together and drawing a camera from somewhere. "Now that you've got your glasses, it's time for some pictures." He frowned at Harry's clothes, which fit but were worn and dull. With a flick of his wand, he repaired all the small rips and tears and brought the color back, which turned out to be a rust red. With another flick, Dewitt changed the color to a dark emerald and adjusted the collar just a tad. "There we go."

He had Harry stand by the rack of glasses, leaning on the counter with a confused look. Harry blinked and jumped as the light flashed and a puff of smoke rose from the camera. "I wasn't ready!" He protested, feeling more nervous than he had any right to be while standing around looking casual.

"Don't worry about that, I can edit it in post," Dewitt replied nonchalantly, "Now, lean back against the wall near my Glass Sculptures display case. There we go." He snapped another picture. "And lastly, one from the outside with you standing by the big window!"

Harry stood awkwardly by the shopfront, feeling mightily uncomfortable even though there were, at most, eight people around the alley and five of them were too busy to care for anything. The other three stopped and stared as Saul took picture after picture, whispering behind their hands and pointing, looking and sounding for all the world like clucking hens in robes.

"There we go!" Dewitt announced, stowing his camera way somewhere and leading the way back into his shop. "Now, even with ads and such, it still costs seventy galleons, though I am prepared to offer you a steep discount on any glass sculptures and accessories you'd like."

The young Potter retrieved the money necessary and handed it off. "Do you have anything I can wear to stop my glasses from falling off when I play Quidditch?" He asked curiously.

Saul blinked, the gold clinking into his till. "Um…a Sticking Charm?" He replied with a shrug. "It won't last until Hogwarts starts, though."

"Why don't you take a look around, Harry?" Rita offered, waving a hand at all the glass things lining the shelves and cases. Harry nodded and moved over to look at the sculptures while the journalist narrowed her eyes on Saul. "So…we met your brother…"

Dewitt couldn't restrain a wince and a grimace. "Ah…did he freak you out a bit?" At her nod, he sighed. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that. He's very…strange, but he's a nice guy under it all. Did his alarm go off?"

"It did," Rita answered. "I was wondering what that was about."

Saul huffed sadly, running a hand through his short-cut hair. "Something like six, seven years back, we were experimenting with Time-Turners and…there was an accident. It was only the quick thinking of a friend and myself that kept him from dying and going insane, though he's never really recovered." He sucked his teeth quietly. "The alarm is a warning that he's about to have a fit. It's dangerous for anyone except myself to be around him when they hit, so he locks himself in his shop for safety."

"Oh…I'm sorry," Rita replied awkwardly, not entirely sure if she meant it or not.

"I know it's weird to talk about," Saul said with a wry twist of his lips. "He wasn't always so…off-tempo. He was a lot like me before the accident."

Harry came back to the counter with a small sculpture cradled in his hands. "I'm sorry about your brother," he said softly, playing with his prize and biting his lip.

"Thanks, Mr. Potter," the Glass Maker smiled sadly, sighing deeply. "What've you got there?"

"Oh!" The young Potter pushed the sculpture onto the counter. "I wanted to buy this." It was a depiction of a proud unicorn made from frosted glass standing on a cliff, gazing into the distance with its head tilted back to display its horn, its mane of spun glass flowing in a nonexistent breeze.

"Ah, a fine choice," Saul chuckled, polishing it with a cloth and storing it in a small, cushioned box. "Five galleons, if you please."

Harry paid the man and cradled his purchase in his hands, playing with it anxiously. "Thanks, Mr. Dewitt," he said quietly.

"No problem, Mr. Potter," The shopkeeper replied with a wink. "You can call me Saul, if you like."

"Then you can call me Harry," the young Potter said with a firm nod.

Saul gave him a small smile. "Will do, Harry. Have a nice day."

"You too." They departed the shop with Harry's new purchases, leaving the shop much darker than when they'd arrived. With a guilty twist in his stomach, the specky little git peered back into the shop and found Saul still at the counter, staring blankly at nothing and looking ten years older and much more worn.

Harry resolved to do something nice for the man, somehow. He played with the box in his hands as they walked to the apparition point, caging it tightly in his fingers as they spun and squeezed through space to end up on the steps of Privet Drive. Entering the house and closing the door with a foot, Harry reached out and grabbed Rita's sleeve. "Er, Rita?" He began nervously.

She looked at him with a raised eyebrow but otherwise expressionless visage. "Finally talking to me now, are you?" She asked dryly.

The young Potter bit his lip and thrust the box at her. "I got this for you!" He babbled, wringing his hands.

The journalist looked surprised, opening the top to look at the unicorn inside. "Why?"

"I-I wanted to say sorry!" He stammered, wishing that the situation wasn't so awkward. "For this morning…for my…I'm just-I'm just sorry, okay? Please don't hate me."

Rita sighed, closing the box and sliding it in her purse. "Harry, do you remember what I said yesterday, when you got an eyeful of my pants? I won't blame you for something that was an accident, or for what your body does naturally," she huffed and tugged on the end of her curly locks. "It's more my fault than it is yours, Harry. Do you hate me?"

Harry shook his head fervently, his eyes wide. "No, of course not!"

"Then why would I hate you?" she shot back, a hand on her hip, "You can't take all the blame for something someone else did, Harry, you'll kill yourself from stress before you're twenty." Rita paused, biting her lip and turning away bashfully. "…And I really liked sleeping with your arms around me," she admitted softly, Harry's cheek flaming with color.

"I-uh, I did…too," the pubescent Potter replied, eyes on the floor. "But I don't…I don't to…make you feel like you _have_ to-"

"'Have to' what?" Rita interrupted sharply. "Have to pretend to enjoy your company, Harry? I may be a bit of bitch, but no one _makes me_ do _anything_ I don't _want._ Including you. I said it yesterday. I _like_ you, Harry. I like spending time with you. The last couple of days have been the best in my life, and we spent most of them _shopping._ So believe me when I say this: I'm not faking a damn thing."

Harry swallowed quietly, feeling a softly burning shame in his chest, the palpable sense of conviction coming from Rita washing away his doubts. "I…I'm sorry," he whispered, feeling like a right bastard.

Rita sighed again, stepping forward and pulling him into a warm, comforting hug. "Stop apologizing, Harry," she ordered gently, brushing a hand through his hair. "It's not your fault, it's the Dursleys'. I'll help you however I can, I swear. Even if I have to stick to you like glue."

The young Potter felt his breath coming in short gasps as something hot flared in his chest. It reminded him of the hugs Hermione would give him, but far more intense. "…Thank you, Rita," he said faintly, gratefully. He frowned when she pulled away, feeling a sense of loss, before he blushed massively as she leaned forward, her eyes shining with something, and kissed his cheek.

"Thank you, Harry," she murmured, stroking the other cheek before coughing into her hand. "I should go…I have some things to do."

"Okay," Harry said quietly, still in shock. Rita smiled sweetly and left him near the front door, climbing the stairs and disappearing into her room with a woosh and a click.

Once she cast a Silencing Charm and was sure it held, Rita collapsed against the door with a harsh exhale, clutching her chest and panting. "Jesus Fucking Christ, Rita!" She gasped, "Stop it before you give yourself a heart attack! He's just a meal-ticket! A sweet, genuine, lonely meal-ticket…"

She slumped to carpet, bouncing the back of her head off the door. "What the hell did you get yourself into?" She jumped when a soft hoot came from the desk she transfigured out the end table.

A grey owl perched on the edge, a scroll tied to one leg that it shook in her direction. Rita quickly untied the missive and began to read, absently feeding the owl a treat. "Wait a second," she said aloud, squinting at the long, loopy words incredulously. "What the hell is that old bastard up to?"

…

Harry was still in shock as he watched Rita disappeared behind her door, his hand on the cheek she had kissed. He stood there for a solid minute, his mind blank, but was torn out of it by a knock on the door.

Wondering who it was, he cracked it open and squinted as the afternoon sunlight shone off of something bright. He jumped as his vision was dominated by silver, nearly ripping his glasses off in surprise when a voice spoke.

"Hello there, Harry Potter," the voice was airy and ethereal, the silver being interrupted by a flash of pale skin.

Harry tapped his glasses frantically, shaking his head when he finally managed to stop zooming in on the person in front of him. "Um…hi?" The silver that had filled his glasses were actually the girl's eyes, the light shining off her pale blonde hair. Then, he noticed Hedwig perched comfortably on her shoulder.

"I'm so glad to finally meet you in person, Harry Potter," she said with wide, friendly smile. "I'm Luna Lovegood. Do you want to get married?"

…

…

…

…

 **A/N: Hey look at that, the inspiration train just rolled into the fucking station! And now here comes Christopher Lee, singing heavy metal and giving delicious hard candies in the shape Lord of the Rings items, Golden Guns, and one of the only good parts of the Star Wars Prequels!**

 **Okay, maybe not that amazing but shit, I wrote ten thousand words in four days. After writing ten thousand words in two days.**

 **Side note: this chapter was fueled by coke and vanilla vodka, plus a lot of music.**

 **It's funny this is getting published on Tuesday, the day I was going to publish the last chapter. That's what I call timing!**

 **Alright serious now: Yes, you guessed right, there will be some Harry/Rita. Will it be permanent? Short answer, no. I already said Harry will date around like an actual teenager, but there will be some tension between them.**

 **And also about Rita: I hope this chapter made it clear, but if it didn't I will state it here: Rita, despite how genuinely nice she is to Harry, is not a good person. She's somewhat amoral, ego-centric and more than slightly delusional. Harry's already having an effect on her, but will it change her completely? Who knows?**

 **But let me also make something as absolutely fucking clear as humanly possible.** _ **I. Do Not. Condone. Pedophillia. At All. EVER. In any form.**_ **And given that nothing will happen between them until he's thirteen, it's more like being pre-emptively cougaring.**

 **If it makes you uncomfortable…good. When I put M as the rating, it's not because 'there might be some salty language' or 'maybe a little touching', I rate stories as M because** _ **I'm not fucking around.**_

 **I'm not having sex on a Ferris Wheel, is what I'm saying.**

 **If you're not familiar with my stories let me tell you right now: shit gets serious. Very frequently. And it gets dark.**

 **Anyway, if that hasn't scared you off, strap in while I get this damn train rolling again. It might be a while before I can get it moving, but it'll be back in the station as soon as it can.**

 **Thanks as always to NorthSouthGorem, Kurogane7 and the boys on Xbox! Give the authors a look and you'll find something you like. And that…is a Dewitt Guarantee.**

 **Stay Awesome.**

 **~Soleneus**

 **P.S.: I like cats and dogs. Animals in general, really. If I got a Corgi, I'd name him P-well, Drei, actually. But if I got** _ **two**_ **Corgi's I'd name one Drei and the other, Pillow.**

 **Aww, who's a good Pillow? You are! Yes, you are!**

 **...God I want a dog. And I wouldn't say no to a cat, either. Or chinchilla, they're fucking adorable little clouds.**

 **NS: Yeah…can't even get fleas or anything. They can't take baths, though, or they'll die.**

 **Stay Awesome Some More.**

 **~still Soleneus**


	5. I Didn't Forget This Story

"Uh…what?" Harry asked, blinking stupidly. "Are…are you serious?"

Luna Lovegood blinked up at him with her large grey eyes, then hummed in realization. "Oh, my apologies, I meant to ask if you wanted to get to know each other," she gave him a beaming smile. "My thoughts have been so jumbled recently, I've been so excited. I've waited to hear from you for a long time."

"Oh," the scrawny tit with the nice glasses scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. "Well, I just sort of found out about all that-"

"I know," she cut in, her voice light and airy. "I received your copied letter from the post. I thought it was very nice of you draw a Longevity rune so that we could keep it. I framed mine."

"You did?" Harry asked faintly.

Luna nodded cheerfully, stroking the snowy owl still sitting on her shoulder. "Along with your first letter to me, specifically. Did you like my response? I hope I didn't leave any details out, I can be very poor at that." She shrugged, Hedwig bobbing with the gesture. "Would you like to show me around? I've never been in an entirely muggle neighborhood before. It's quite fascinating."

The young Potter couldn't possibly see how Privet Drive, with all its houses built and stamped from the same mould, could be anything other than dreadfully boring. "Sure, Luna. Er, how did you find me?" He wondered if the whole 'hiding among the muggles' thing actually worked or not. Rita found him easily, and now so had Luna. There was a wide gap in age and ability, there, but they'd still done it.

"I asked Hedwig, silly," she replied, the Snowy owl barking in confirmation. "She's a very lovely owl, though a bit out of place here." Hedwig clicked her beak and picked at Luna's light-blonde locks as if she was brushing them, then fluttered over to Harry and nibbled his ear.

He looked at her in confusion, and his owl pecked his nose and barked, taking off through the house and flying into his room, leaving the two alone. "So let's just…go then," Harry said awkwardly, stepping out of #4. _What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to act? Is this…is this a Date?!_

The airy girl nodded in agreement, slipping an arm around his. "I find that's the best way to start," she whispered confidentially, "Just go. Don't wait for later. Don't say tomorrow today, just do it."

The last Potter found he had nothing to say, and only nodded in agreement. She'd made a good point, but the way she said it left him confused. Directing his attention to what they were supposed to be doing, i.e. walking around, he said, "This is Privet Drive," gesturing at the house around them. "Wisteria Walk is a few streets down north, and Magnolia is around the next corner."

Luna hummed in acknowledgement, casting her large grey eyes at the stamped out houses around them while she skipped slowly, alternating between skipping after every third step and after every second step randomly. Seeing how she had her attention elsewhere, Harry took the time to examine her fully. He would've done it at #4, but her eyes had captured his attention the whole time. They were so…shiny. Like pools of quicksilver. He wondered if they could tell the temperature?

The dozy git shook his head, clearing his thoughts and realizing that they had walked far enough from Privet Drive to reach a petrol station. "Are you hungry? We can get some snacks here," he asked, feeling the few pound notes in his pocket. He could afford a snack or two, maybe a few sweets as well.

"That's sounds delightful," the air-headed blonde replied with a wide smile, her radish-shaped earrings bouncing in time to her skipping. "I've heard muggle sweets don't move. Is that true?"

"Yeah, they don't have the magic to charm them," Harry pointed out, before pausing. "Would melted chocolate count as moving sweets?"

"Only technically," Luna added, before frowning minutely. "Do you not like skipping, Harry Potter?"

The young Potter opened his mouth to say no, but stopped when he realized something. "I…I've never actually skipped before," he admitted, scratching cheek in thought. "So I can't say whether I like it or not."

"Then skip with me," she offered, gripping his arm tighter. "When you walk, lift your knee and hop, then alternate foot and knee. Ready?"

Harry cautiously nodded, nearly tripping when Luna dragged him forward with surprising strength. He barely managed to hop, almost falling to the ground when he landed oddly, but on the next attempt he managed to skip passably. The next few skips added experience and by the time they'd skipped a block, they were in sync and laughing gaily. And though he felt mighty silly, the radiant smile on Luna's face and the peals of laughter made it easy for him to ignore the feeling.

The station was empty of all cars and people, with the natural exception of the cashier, who didn't even look up from her magazine as they entered. Harry looked down the candy aisle, dismissing most of brightly wrapped sweets out of hand. While he liked chocolate and treacle tart as much as the next guy, far too many candies were sweetness in a melty bar and he'd seen what they'd done to Dudley.

A bar of dark chocolate and a small bag of lightly salted crisps were his choice, while Luna picked a few pieces of foreign candy with words he didn't even know existed, let alone that he could read. After grabbing a bottle of water, they approached the counter and the girl sullenly checked them out before going back to her magazine. Outside, the not-all-there girl looped her arm around her possible groom-to-be and dragged him back into skipping along the sidewalk.

If Harry had any sense of dignity, he would be glad to know that it was the middle of a summer day and most people were at work, on vacation or feeding their children lunch, so there were very few who saw him arm-in-arm with a slight blonde while they skipped. Harry managed to direct them to a nearby park that was mostly empty, with only a couple of families having a picnic in it.

Luna planted herself in the field, patting the grass next to her with a smile. The scrawny tit took a seat next to her, ripping his bag of crisps open and popping one in his mouth with a crunch. "So, Luna," he began slowly, offering her the bag. "I feel like I know you already, but I still don't, not really. You said your father is magi-a magizoo-someone who studies magical creatures?"

"Magizoologist," the blonde girl corrected gently, licking the salt from a crisp before biting it in half. "Indeed. It's a failing, I think, that after wizards cut something open and learn how to make leather and wands from it, they believe they know everything about the animal. There are still so many questions about the world and its animals that we don't know. Like, why are dragons cold-blooded if they breathe fire? Why do Puffskeins die at the same time?"

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "Those are good questions," he offered the bag again. "You said something about invisible creatures? Rack Sports or something?"

"Wrackspurts," Luna corrected again, frowning slightly. "I described them in their entirety in my second letter. Did…did you not understand my letter?"

The last Potter grimaced guiltily. "Some of it was…a bit hard to understand," he hedged, panicking slightly when her face fell. "It's not your fault, really! I'm just…not that smart."

Her silver eyes sharpened as she gave him a dry look. "The excuses of an intelligent person prone to laziness," she countered, leaning forward to gaze into his eyes. "If you believe you will fail, you will. If you don't try, you'll never succeed. If you want, I could help you understand your own intelligence. Some people need help with that."

Feeling suitably chastised, Harry nodded quickly. "Uh sure, that would be great. And we could get to know each other…better." He paused, thinking hard. "What house are you in, Luna? I don't think I've ever…looked around. For you."

"Ravenclaw," Luna answered with a small smile. "I won't take it as an insult that you didn't look for me. You didn't have any reason, did you? And you were busy. How do you like being in Gryffindor? It must be very loud."

The dozy git shrugged in agreement. "It can be, yeah, but it's also warm and lively. It takes some getting used to." He popped another crisp in his mouth. "What about Ravenclaw? Does it actually have a library in the Common Room?"

She carefully unwrapped a foreign sweet, smoothing out the crinkles in the wrapper before sliding it into her pocket and eating the candy. "Mm, tingly," she giggled, offering the other to Harry. "Try it, it's fun."

Harry stared at the brightly-colored sweet cautiously, flickering back and forth between it and Luna's serene smile before taking it. Hesitantly, he took a bite…and immediately began to cough as spice burst in his mouth like a firework. Scrambling for his water bottle, the dozy sod nearly choked as he downed as much water as he could to wash away the burning on his tongue. "That wasn't fun at all," he gasped, scrubbing his tongue with his sleeve.

"Hmm," the airy blonde hummed, "I guess some people can't take a little heat. We'll have to work on that."

"I'd rather not," Harry coughed, sighing as he smacked his lips. "So, does the Ravenclaw common room have a library in it?"

"Oh yes, but it's rather boring all told," Luna pouted, leaning back on her hands and kicking her feet. "All history books and homework guides, but none of the fun, interesting stories. It's quite a shame, really. It's always quiet, focused and studious; there's never any room for fun. I think I'd quite liked to be in Gryffindor or Hufflepuff but my favorite color is blue." She turned to her scrawny prospective husband with an ethereal smile. "Do you have a favorite class, Harry?"

"I do enjoy Charms and Transfiguration, but my favorite has to be Defense Against the Dark Arts," he said with a shrug. "I reckon I like them so much because we get to do magic the most often in those classes. It's fun, learning something new about magic every day."

Luna gave him a supremely pleased look, scooting over on the grass to lean her head on his shoulder. "I think I will marry you after all, Harry," she declared bluntly. She heard him gulp nervously and let loose a tinkling giggle. "Not right now, but when we're older. I think you and I can have a lot of fun together."

Harry thought back to thirty minutes ago, skipping and laughing as they held hands. "Yeah," he murmured faintly. "I think so, too…but we should still get to know each other better."

"Of course," the fae-like blonde hummed. "What kind of woman would I be if I revealed all my secrets on the first date?"

The scrawny tit opened his mouth and paused. "…You're a girl, though."

"Exactly."

With the warm sun combined with a soft breeze and the gentle warmth of the girl leaning against him, Harry found himself dozing in the grass, his mind empty of everything except the serenity of his surroundings. He was snapped out of his trance by Luna shaking him gently. "Hm? Whassgoin'on?"

"It's getting late, Harry," she replied with a gentle smile. "I was supposed to be home a few hours ago, but daddy will understand that I was sleeping with my future husband."

"…Okay," Harry muttered, sitting up in the grass and rubbing his eyes, noticing that the sun was beginning to hang low in the sky. "Ah. I was supposed to work on my Transfiguration homework today."

"There's still plenty of time for that," Luna said, hauling him up to his feet and wrapping an arm around his. "Would you like to skip with me again?"

Unbidden, the last Potter found himself smiling. "Sure." Arm-in-arm, they skipped from the park, down the street and back to Privet Drive. Cars passed them by, gardners looked up from the flower beds and watched as the two kids bounced by, laughing the entire way.

Stopping at Number Four, Harry opened the door and stepped inside, turning to face Luna as an awkward blush covered his cheeks. "So, um…it was nice to meet you in person, Luna."

"I agree," she smiled, "I will visit you again, Harry. Maybe you could come to visit my home? I'd like to introduce you to my daddy, I think he'd love you."

"S-sure," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck embarrassedly. "That sounds nice, Luna." He stiffened as she stood up on her tiptoes and pressed a short kiss to his cheek, his mind blanking at the sensation of her soft, silken and slightly cool lips against his skin.

"Harry? What's going on?" Rita's voice drew him from his reverie. Spinning on his heel, he found at the top of the stairs peering down, a frown on her lips.

Struck by guilt, the scrawny git quickly stepped away from Luna. "Oh! Er, we were just-"

"I gave him a kiss after our first date," Luna said bluntly, a serene smile on her lips. "Daddy told me that was what I was supposed to do if I had fun. And I did. I want to do it again."

"…That's nice," Rita replied slowly, descending down the stairs to slip a possessive arm around Harry's shoulders. "You must be one of potential contractors, I guess."

Harry glanced up at her confusedly. "Uh, yeah. This is Luna Lovegood. Luna, this is-"

"Maria," the intrepid reporter interjected, giving a thin smile as she nodded at the blonde girl. "I'm a good friend of the family."

"That's nice," Luna said blandly, turning a smile on Harry. "I'll come visit you soon, Harry. And when you come visit me, Daddy and I will making Gulping Plimpy soup. I know you'll love it."

"Yeah, that sounds…nice," Harry returned awkwardly.

"Bye." The elfin blonde stated, turning on her heel to skip away. Harry and Rita watched as she bounced away down the street, her silver-blonde hair bobbing with every skip.

The reporter muttered something under her breath, the specky git looking up at her questioningly. "You knew who she was, you were there when I opened the letters," he said rather than asked.

"I remember," Rita replied, leading him into the kitchen with her arm still around his shoulder. "But no one knows me like this, and it would be rather strange if I, as Maria, recognized a twelve-year old girl on sight. Enough about me," she sat him down at one end of the table, taking a chair on the opposite side. She smiled teasingly, waggling her eyebrows. "How was your little date, eh? Was it nice? Did you have fun?"

Harry blushed deeply, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "It was nice, yeah…and fun. She's-Luna, she's…fun." There was a brief, awkward silence before he cleared his throat. "Rita…? Did I just go on a date, a _real_ date…with a girl?"

"Yuuup," the reporter drawled with a smirk. "Well, more like a _play_ date than anything, but yeah, you did. Though, if you think about it, us going out to the movies was a _real_ date."

"…Huh," Harry muttered, scratching his temple. "I guess so." He shook his head and turned his bright green eyes on her. "Before Luna showed up, I was going to get to work on my transfiguration essay. Can you help me?"

"Of course, Harry, but…" Her mind went to letter up on her desk, the curling, looping handwriting belonging to only one old bat. "Listen, I just received a letter, from Albus Dumbledore. He's claiming responsibility for all the missed letters and is asking people to 'forgive your ignorance in the matter.'"

He tilted his head curiously, eyes narrowing behind his glasses. "Did Professor Dumbledore say why the mail ward was up in the first place?"

Rita shrugged, withdrawing her wand to summon the letter from her desk and handing it over when zipped down the stairs. "Something about being worried that the former followers of Voldemort using owl post to track you down and take revenge, either in person or with cursed letters." She huffed, feeling a bit of admiration despite herself. "Old bat knows how to work all the angles, I'll give him that. Reminding people of your status, talking about protecting a national hero, joking about his age…Harry?"

The dozy young man was staring intently at the letter, the handwriting more specifically. "Why does this…" he muttered to himself, scratching his temple absently and jumping when the reporter ran her fingers through his hair. Blushing at her cocked eyebrow, he explained himself. "For some reason, Professor Dumbledore's handwriting reminds me of something…something important, but…"

Huffing, Harry pulled open the cupboard under the stairs, dragging his trunk out and flipping it open. "Quite a mess, eh?" Miss Nosy remarked humoredly, watching as he dug into mass of robes, parchment and other odds and ends. "Step back, Harry, and watch."

The last Potter dutifully stepped away from his trunk as Rita pointed her wand into the mess and gave a series of flicks. "Wow," he muttered, watching with rapture as his robes rose from inside, neatly folded themselves then set down in a corner of his trunk, his socks balling up and his parchment rustling as it pulled itself into neat rolls. "I need to learn that charm."

"It's a modification of the Cleaning Charm, Scourgify," the reporter reported, smirking slightly at the awe on his face. "Scourgify is actually one of the most versatile charms there is, since it just means 'Clean,' and clean can mean a lot of things, depending on the situation. I once knew a girl who had this guy, a real slob of a fellow, trying to court her. She said if he didn't clean himself, she'd make him. And keep rejecting him. So, when he tried again, she hit him with the charm and suds came shooting out of his nose. And his mouth. And his ears. And…well, it was unpleasant for him, to say the least. Ah, there we go."

In the end, almost everything had been sorted into neat piles, with the exception of his potion kit. After the explosive aftermath of his first class, Harry had made damn sure none of his ingredients were mixed. And in-between the neat stacks of clothes was a bunch of random crap; parchment scraps, broken quills, his invisibility cloak and the flute Hagrid had given him for his first Hogwarts Christmas. "There it is," he muttered, dragging the liquid-like cloak from within along with a neat card. "Yup, that's what I thought."

"Can I see that?" Rita asked, chuckling internally as the young wizard passed the cloak over. _Prime teasing material right here,_ she noted, running it through her fingers before a frown crossed her face. _Or it_ would _be, if I hadn't had to explain what puberty was to him yesterday. Dammit. Hey…_ She rubbed the cloak experimentally, comparing it to the ones she'd felt before. "This is strange…"

"What is?" Harry looked up from comparing the letter to the note.

"This feels very different from regular invisibility cloaks," she noted, holding it up to the light. "Usually, they feel a bit softer than a regular cloak, but that's it. This one feels like cool water in cloak form."

"It belonged to my dad," he noted, holding up the card. _Your father left this with me before he died. Use it well._ It read in familiar, looping letters.

"Albus Dumbledore gave the son of a notorious prankster an Invisibility Cloak?" Rita said incredulously, "I mean, it _is_ a family heirloom, but still. It's a little… _iffy_ , don't you think?"

Harry frowned at her and she resisted the urge to pinch his scrunched up cheeks. "No. Why?"

The reporter planted a hand on her hip, leaning against the stairs as she explained, "Well, you just so happen to get something that helped you sneak around _just_ as you were getting into the mystery? And after being deprived of gifts your whole life, no less." She reached up with her free hand to scratch behind her ear, hiding a satisfied smirk as his eyes dipped to the brief flash of her stomach. "And you said Dumbledore could look through it a couple of times. I mean, it's an _invisibility cloak_. Unless he tagged it with charms or something, he shouldn't have been able to see it."

The young Potter paused in thought. "Or he's just experienced enough to see where a person under a cloak could be," he pointed out in return, tilting his head curiously. "You don't like Professor Dumbledore, do you?"

"I'm ambivalent," Rita shrugged, lying through her teeth. _Time to change the subject, can't push it too hard too quick._ "Now, you said you had some transfiguration homework?"

"Oh yeah, I do," Harry started in realization, taking back his cloak and making to put it away. "Actually…I want to put all my stuff in my dad's trunk," he gave her a blushing shrug, "Guess I made you waste the charm, sorry."

"Oh Harry," the nosy woman crooned, pulling him into a one-armed hug that left his cheek cradled against her bosom, running her free hand through his hair, "Nothing's a waste when it comes to helping you." With a casual twist and flick of her wand, Harry's trunk floated up the stairs and they followed it, the young man sitting at his desk with Rita standing behind him.

"S-so I have to explain why the process of transfiguring animate to animate is easier than inanimate to animate, but I don't know why it is and…the text is hard to read," he admitted embarrassedly, half from the difficulty of admitting his problem and half from the soft pair of breasts resting against the back of his head.

Rita chuckled, peering over his scribbled beginnings with an arched eyebrow. "Those books can be mighty dry, can't they? Like a dry roll just crying out for some butter, or maybe gravy," she snorted and shook her head. "I forgot to grab some lunch. Anyway, if the text is a bit impenetrable, you should look into a magazine, the _Transfiguration Journal_. I don't subscribe to it myself, but I've read it a few times. Here, let me put it this way;"

She conjured two pieces of rock on Harry's desk with a pair of flicks, then transfigured one into a wooden carving which definitely wasn't in the image of her cottage, oh no, while the other became a kitten. "Oh wow," Harry whispered, picking up the carving and inspecting it, "It's so amazing that you can do that without any words, it almost seems impossible."

The reporter felt a flattered and pleased blush make its way across her cheeks, and she responded by nuzzling his messy black hair. "You know just what to say to make a girl feel appreciated, don't you?" The heat emanating from his face warmed her arms. "Look at the carving, really look at it. See the details? All the small, intricate things?"

Trying ignore the pillowy sensation and failing badly, the little wizard turned the wooden house in his hands, seeing the that the roof had a few missing tiles and that the sides were cracked and pitted with age. Peering through a window, he could make out a desk and a bed. "Yeah," he breathed, running his thumbs over the smooth wood.

"It was ten times harder to make the kitten," she continued, taking the house out of his hands and replacing it with said. "Touch it, stroke it…gently," Rita cautioned, a smirk on her lips, "Don't handle my pussy roughly, it needs a softer touch before that. Now, what do you feel?"

"Soft," Harry said, stroking the warm, silken fur of the kitten as it snoozed away in his hands. He could feel it breathing, its chest expanding and contracting against his fingers and beneath that, a quick, steady heartbeat. "Warm, breathing…living."

"In a word," the reporter murmured into his ear, " _Movement._ The air coming in to the lungs, the blood pumping through the heart, it all _moves_. That's what makes inanimate to animate so difficult, taking something that is still and lifeless, and bringing it to life. _Not_ , I should say, giving the appearance of life, that's a Glamour and those are Charms. All the moving parts, moving correctly, that's what you need. With animate to animate, most of those things are already moving, unless you're changing a bug into a toad or something. You get me?"

"I think so," the last Potter said softly, lightly petting the kitten as it yawned and awoke, blinking large yellow eyes at him.

"Good!" Rita vanished both the kitten and the house, noting the dismayed noise her object of attention made at the loss. "Now, write that down but in a long-winded, somewhat meandering way. If you do well enough, I'll let you play with my pussy some more." _Wow, Rita, tone the innuendo down a tad. There'll be no playing of any kinds of parts until August. Well, not_ strictly _true, a girl has needs…_

Nodding determinedly, Harry dipped his quill and got to writing, occasionally stopping to ask a question, which Rita would answer while gently teasing him pushing her chest against the back of his head.

And when he was finished with Transfiguration, they moved onto Charms. It was a rather nice experience for the both of them, all told, spending the afternoon working away together. But all things, especially nice ones, have to end sometime.

"Oh Harry dear!" Petunia's reedy voice called up the staircase, "I've bought you some new clothes! And I've bought a ham for dinner, won't that be delightful?"

The two magical twats stepped out of Harry's room, peering over the banister to see Petunia staggering towards the kitchen with a large ham clutched in her bony arms. "Looks like you've got an armful there, Aunt Petunia," Rita smirked, stepping down and drawing her wand. With a flick of her stick, the big hunk of meat rose out of the muggle's grasp and began to float into the dining room.

Neither of them missed the way Petunia's face paled at the blatant magic use. "Oh, thank you dear," she smiled at Rita, brushing her hands together. "There isn't much left in the car, I'll just go get it, shall I?"

"Nonsense, I'll come help!" The reporter smiled, her grin curved like a shark's. "Harry, go finish up your Charms essay, I'll _help_ Aunt Petunia here with dinner."

"Okay," Harry nodded, tilting his head at his retreating aunt. Although she'd only done it because of the charms she was under, she'd still bought Harry some new clothes. "Thank you for the new clothes, Aunt Petunia."

The thin muggle turned to look up at him, a brief war taking place over her features before she settled on a small smile. "You're welcome, Harry dear," she said softly, almost wistfully before heading out of the door.

As the messy-haired little tosser went back into his room, Rita hid her wand up her sleeve and followed Petunia out into the driveway, where the muggle was pulling plastic bags out of the boot. "Allow me to help," the reporter said, laying a hand on the muggle's shoulder.

Petunia stiffened as another set of compulsion charms washed over her, layered with an extra that would tell Rita when they were about to fade. _Rather not have another plate chucked at my head, thank you,_ she thought, carrying half the groceries into the kitchen and leaving the rail-thin woman to it while she went back upstairs. _Now, I have an article to write…a very odd one, too._

In his room, The Twit Master General set his completed charms essay aside to dry and, deciding that'd done enough homework for the day, leaned back in his chair with the strange journal.

 _I'm not overdramatic,_ it read. _Everyone else is._

 _I tried to talk to the girl I call Lily, but the Gryffindors drew around her like I was going to club her over the head and drag her into the dungeons to turn her into potion ingredients! I knew there was some sort of rivalry between the Houses, but this is ridiculous! It was outside of Transfiguration, with the Professor being the Head of Gryffindor along with Deputy Headmaster._

 _He's an odd duck and no doubt about that, but the way he talked about Transfiguration and magic in general was…_ stirring. _He's just so enthusiastic about it, I couldn't help but smile during class. And despite being Head of my 'rival' House, he still praised my turning a matchstick into a needle, and even offered extra points if I could do it again but add writing._

 _I made it say 'Watch the eye.' Then he smiled at me and his eyes did this weird twinkling thing, but that was actually comforting. It's nice to know I'm not the only one with strange eyes._

 _Anyway, I have to wait a few more days before I can try and find out what Lily's real name is, since I only have Charms and Transfiguration with Gryffindor. Potions and Herbology are with Hufflepuff, while Astronomy and History of Magic are with Ravenclaw. Damnation._

…

 _Herbology was a pleasant surprise, though my Housemates don't seem to think so. Apparently, handling a little dirt is beneath them, bunch of pricks. I enjoy it, actually, feeling the earth between my fingers, the myriad of scents and the rustling of leaves. The Professor is…rather dim, though, when it comes to anything outside of plants. When I asked how the leaves and stems differ when making potions, he gave me a blank look and mumbled something about asking Slughorn._

 _And speaking…or_ writing _of potions, I guess, it's a decent class. Slughorn is a fair teacher, telling of the correct method of stirring, proper cutting and grinding techniques and why some steps use clockwise stirs while others need counter-clockwise. I made sure to write it down and made a copy, just in case I need a spare. It'll come in handy someday, I'm sure._

Harry flipped the page to find a folded piece of parchment stuck in-between the next pages, and upon pulling it out he found a list of what he'd read about just before. Looking down the list, it took him a minute to realize that the bullet points were actually made of small Longevity Runes. He set it aside, as he still had his Potions homework to do, and perhaps having that list would make it a bit easier to write his essay.

 _The first potion we made was a simple Wart-Removing Solution, which went fine for me. I've made plenty of it at home, so I knew just what to do. The directions were a bit wrong, with an extra pinch of of powdered bicorn hoof along with an unnecessary counter-clockwise stir. My potion was softer green than the others, which means it can be used on more sensitive parts of the body, which is fairly horrifying to think about. When Slughorn stopped to check in at my station, he laughed loudly and told everyone about me being some sort of little Potions genius, apparently because my grandparents were also good at it._

 _I hate the attention. And it's not like I came up with the change in making the potion, it was in the family book at home._

 _Someone, I don't know who, added too many drops of murtlap essence into their cauldron without taking it off the heat first and Slughorn yelled for everyone to duck before it exploded. I nearly ran head-first into a girl under my station; apparently, she'd come to look at my potion before the accident, and at first I thought it was Lily. It took me a moment to notice that her eyes were grey and while they had red hair, this girl's was a very dark red, rather like blood. It was quite fetching actually._

 _Her name is Amelia Bones, of the House Bones. They used to be a family of necromancers and seers, but seem to have shifted towards government now. She's in Hufflepuff, though I wonder if she's friends with Lily…_

 _Anywho, I can't comprehend how someone could make a mistake like that. I stopped blowing cauldrons up after the third time and Mother hexed me so badly I couldn't see out of my left eye for a week. Slughorn also tore strips out of that idiot's hide and sent him off to the Infirmary to fix the miniature horns sprouting out of his face._

 _Some people._

…

 _Damnation. Again, I tried to approach Lily and again, those gilded morons grouped up and left. What is wrong with these people?! I just want_ talk _to her, get her actual name…and also find out why her eyes are a different color. I'm sure they were green, but today they were blue._

 _I also decided to look up the flower she has stenciled onto her books. It took most of my afternoon free period, but I finally found it in the Herbology section. It's a flower called a Sundrop, a rare flower that only blooms only at a specific time one day of the year, noon on the Summer Solstice. It's also known as 'The Daytime Lily,' which confused me. Don't all Lilies bloom in the day time? Except for the Lunar Lilies, obviously._

Harry looked up from the journal at the sound of beating wings, leaning back slightly as the spotted owl he recognized as being Susan Bones' bird fluttered inside his window and offered its leg. Untying the two letters, he offered it a treat and got to reading. One was from Susan, who was asking if they could try and start over afresh, given her new knowledge of his situation. He also learned that the owl was a girl named Fibia.

"Wow," he muttered, running a hand through his hair and looking up at the owl. "Are you a liar, girl?"

Fibia hooted negatively, bouncing in place and bobbing her head rhythmically. When he went back to reading, she pecked his desk loudly and barked at him, then continued to bounce and bob, occasionally flaring her wings in what was obviously some sort of dance. With a theatrical flap of her wings that made Harry's essays fly off the desk, Fibia twirled and bowed, looking at the scrawny boy expectantly.

Nonplussed, he glanced down at the letter. _If she dances for you, make sure to clap._ Harry clapped politely and the owl hooted, settling down on the window sill almost radiating smugness. Finishing off the letter, Harry decided that yes, he and Susan could start afresh. Even though she had treated him with suspicion during the whole 'Heir of Slytherin' event, she only seemed to do so because her best friend, Hannah Abbott, was doing so as well. And speaking of Hannah Abbott…

The other letter was from her. It spoke of how, for the longest time, she and her best friend had looked up to the legend of the Boy-Who-Lived, how Susan had lost both her parents and Hannah had lost her mother to Voldemort, and how they both hoped that little lonely Harry Potter would understand and they could be friends. And then, how after their letters had gone unanswered for years, Hannah had started to hate him for being 'better than them' while Susan had always held onto hope. And then, when they'd first seen him, shorter than all the other first years, with messy hair and glasses that were a tad too big for his face, they were confused.

They'd thought (correctly) that, perhaps Harry had never gotten their letters by mistake and, perhaps, they could try to make friends. But he'd been so caught up with Ronald Weasley and withdrawn from the rest of the school, except for his spats against Malfoy. Then Halloween had come and Hermione had joined them, and Susan had thought it was too late.

Then second year had come around and Harry had hissed at the snake menacing Justin Finch-Fletchley and all the worst thoughts Hannah had had about him seemed to come true in an instant. He was a sneaky Slytherin, far more sneaky than the others because he'd hid himself in Gryffindor, so she'd turned her back on him with the rest of the school; somehow forgetting that his mother was muggleborn, as was his only other friend.

And then, Hannah revealed her regrets, had allowed her previous judgements built off her opinion color what Harry actually was, seeing only what she wanted to. She apologized for her actions, and asked if they could send letters to one another and get to know each other better without the past clouding reality.

Basically, the same as Susan's first letter, but much longer and much more rambling. Harry set her letter down and opened his father's trunk, grabbing a Licorice Wand to ruminate with. Chewing slowly, the young wizard thought back to the previous year of schooling at Hogwarts, how angry the constant suspicious looks and cold shoulders from the House of Loyalty had made him feel. The feeling of being singled out everywhere he went, being alone in a crowd of kids his age, the subtle burning of shame and disappointment mingling with resentment for them believing all that rot about him being the Heir of Slytherin.

Which, ironically, he actually was. But he hadn't known that at the time. Just like Hannah hadn't known about the letters.

Stuffing the last length of the licorice in his mouth, Harry nodded to himself and grabbed a pair of fresh parchment pieces, scribbling out his replies which basically amounted to ' _Yes, let's try to be friends, here's some basic information about me.'_ "Here you go, Fibia," he said, tying the letters to the owl's leg and feeding her another treat before she flew from his window.

"Dinner, Harry!" Aunt Petunia called from downstairs. Dutifully, Harry descended the stairs and joined his relatives (and Rita) at the dinner table, where a roasted honey-glazed ham sat in the center, still steaming with a sweet and savory scent, succulent sweat sliding swiftly down the side. Along with the centerpiece was a bowl of mashed potatoes and a salad. "There you are, dear! Here, have a plate. Why don't you tell me all about your day?"

Sitting next to a smirking Rita, across from a slumped-over Dudley, the young wizard took the plate and sat down. "Well, I worked on my Hogwarts homework-"

"You didn't cast any magic, did you lad?" Vernon asked worriedly, but not in his 'enraged walrus' state, but in a way that said he was genuinely concerned for Harry. "You could get in trouble with your Ministry."

"Oh, he didn't cast any magic," That Bitch announced, taking a plate of dinner with a smile, "It's mostly theory work at home, and he only needed a few examples to understand his problems."

"Ah," the fat older muggle nodded, leaning back in his chair which creaked alarmingly, "Excellent, good show you two! I always knew you were a right crafty one, lad. Your school results must be quite good."

Harry hid a grimace behind a slice of ham, eating it in lieu of answering. While they weren't horrible, they definitely could be better. _It's not like you punished me when I did better than Dudley,_ he thought bitterly, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "I also met with a girl I might end up betrothed to," he added, quietly enjoying the shock on Vernon and Petunia's faces. Dudley, on the other hand, was sluggishly shoveling food into his mouth and mumbling under his breath.

"'Betrothed?'" Petunia repeated incredulously, "Wizards still have betrothal contracts? Isn't that a tad… _archaic_?"

"Not really," Rita cut in, licking a smidge of potatoes away from the corner of her mouth, "They aren't permanent thing, it's more of an agreement between two people that they _might_ get married, if they're compatible. There isn't any forcing of any party, it has to be mutual."

"Oh," the thin muggle muttered. "Well, that's good. What is this young lady like?"

Harry tilted his head, narrowing his eyes in thought. It was a rather adorable look for him. "She's…strange, but not in a bad way, just…different, I guess. Her name's Luna."

"Pretty name," Vernon noted, before moving on to a new conversation about his work. Apparently, his good behavior had caught his boss's eye and he was getting reviewed for a promotion.

After dinner was consumed and dessert, a light fruit salad, was eaten, Petunia and Vernon bundled their son up the stairs for a shower and bed, leaving the two magicals with the downstairs to themselves. "We're gonna have another movie night," the reporter announced, taking Harry by the arm and leading him to the couch. "I'm thinking…Star Wars, yes, every boy loves those movies." She drew the tapes from her purse and bent over to insert them into the VCR, wiggling her hips slightly as she imagined the look on Harry's face as he watched muggle magic take place.

And when she sat down next to him and his was resolutely gaze fixed on the lamp next him, she definitely wasn't smirking, honest. And then the musical score began, Harry leaned forward…and his jaw dropped.

Hours later, Rita stood up from the couch and stretched, muttering about going to the bathroom and Harry got up to make some popcorn, his mind still fixed on the movie he'd just seen. For some reason he couldn't identify, the story resonated with him… _Wait a minute._ His spine cracked as he straightened, his thoughts racing. _A boy with heroic parents who died, living with his aunt and uncle, gets pulled into a new, dangerous world by a bearded man, who's enemy is a Dark Lord…Holy Shite, that's_ my _life! I mean, the details are different, but the broad strokes are the same. Am…am I in a story?_

"Harry?" A hand touched his shoulder and he jumped, bruising his back against the counter. A concerned Rita touched his cheek. "Deep thoughts?"

"Yeah, I was just…noticing something odd," He replied sheepishly, scratching behind his ear. Asking 'do you ever feel fictional' would probably get him an odd look, and despite her previous declaration, Harry would rather Rita not think him too strange to be around. "Popcorn's done."

When they sat down to watch the next movie, the reporter pulled him close and he lost himself in the comfort she offered and the adventures of Luke Skywalker in a galaxy far, far away…

After it was over, Rita half-pulled and half-leaned on a sleepy Harry, who was mumbling questions to himself. "Why'd Leia say she loved Han so soon after she kissed Luke? Was she lying? I don't like liars…" He paused as a thought occurred, the nosy journalist cursing as she stubbed her toe on the next step. "Those weird torches…the sword torches… _swordches_. They looked familiar…"

" _Harry…"_ Rita whined tiredly, "C'moooooonnnn, I wanna sleeeeeep…Most muggles got torches, Harry, they aren't…" She tilted her head back and let loose a deep, jaw-cracking yawn, "…That unusual."

"Oh," he muttered, opening his door and stripping his day clothes off in trade for his nightshirt. Blinking, he turned around to see his older friend watching him with half-glazed eyes, one of which she winked at him with. Blearily deciding he was too tired to care, Sleepy Harry set the issue aside for Awake Harry to deal with tomorrow and slid into bed.

Rita felt his eyes on her as she unbuttoned her trousers and let them slide down as she shucked her shirt off, leaving her in her underthings. _Who cares?_ She thought tiredly, transfiguring her bra into a comfortable shirt, _it's not like he's not going to see me naked soon enough…actually, I should start making my shirts shorter…_

Flicking off the light, she climbed over the young wizard, pausing briefly to rest the weight of her body on top of Harry before slumping down beside him, pulling the quilt up to cover them and stowing her wand under her pillow. Wrapping her arms around him, she pulled him close and nuzzled his hair, her mind falling away with a faint murmur of, "G'night…"

…

Harry awoke for no obvious reason, peering sleepily at the quiet, sun-dappled room in confusion before snuggling back into Rita's warmth. _I could get used to this…_

But before sleep could tug his eyes closed, he jerked awake again. "Whhhyyy…" He whined, attempting to sit up. 'Attempting' being the key word, as Rita's arms, more than capable of overpowering a scrawny pre-teen, pulled him back down against her somewhat awkwardly, the tip of her nose brushing the base of his skull.

"Nnnnnoooo, Haaaarrryyy…" She burbled into his neck and he went ramrod-stiff as her lips touched his skin. Everything else seemed to fade except for that feeling, her silky-smooth lips brushing the back of his neck, hyper-aware that every feather-light touch sent bolts of heat through his body. Then, the hand draped over his stomach began to move, stroking down his belly under his shirt, each movement taking her lower and lower…

… _tap…_

"…Rita, what's that sound?" He managed to speak through a tightly-clenched jaw. To both his relief and frustration, oddly, the reporter withdrew from her ministrations.

"What sound…?" She asked faintly, before the quiet tapping made itself known again. Rita shifted, looking up at the window to find a common brown owl tapping at the glass, an official Ministry of Magic harness across its breast. Withdrawing her wand, she spelled the window open and summoned the letter, breaking the seal with a finger and reading.

Harry felt it as she went rigid, twisting around to peer at her. "Rita, what's-"

"Oh, shite." With surprising agility, she threw the covers aside and dove out of bed, frantically scrabbling at her trousers as she reversed the transfiguration on her top.

A somewhat-stunned Harry reclined on his pillows, watching as the witch hopped around trying to get her legs into her clothes, which made certain parts very… _jiggly_. He felt a bit disappointed as she secured her trousers and pulled on her shirt, and even more so when she transfigured them to look more like Wizarding under-robes. Her handbag opened with a snap and she reached into it, her arm disappearing up to her elbow before withdrawing a rather hideous lime-green robe with what looked like cheetah spots decorating it.

Sliding her glasses into place, Rita's jaw became more square and heavy, makeup caking her face to make her look just a bit too pale, lips with lipstick that made them look just a bit too red, eyes and mouth gaining slight lines. Her hair seemed to curdle into rigid blonde ringlets, her eyes lightening a shade. Turning to Harry, she gestured at herself. "How do I look?"

The young wizard blinked at her. "…Blonde?" He shrugged helplessly. "What's going on?"

The reporter paused, her eyes flicking to the crumpled letter on the floor. "It's…something important, Harry," she said after a moment, summoning the missive to her and shoving it in her handbag. "I can't say just yet, but…when I get back, I'll explain it, alright?"

"Okay," he nodded, his eyes showing his confusion.

"Good, I'll be back in a few hours. You might want to check over your papers and maybe work on another today," Rita leaned down and grasped Harry by the jaw, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his lips. "Don't forget to take your potions at breakfast and lunch, okay?"

Blinking rapidly as his cheeks flooded with heat, the young Potter licked his lips. "Yeah, I will."

"Bye, Harry," The reporter smiled briefly and stepped out of his room, quickly layering the Dursley's with more compulsions before turning on her her heel and vanishing with a crack.

Harry sighed, slumping down in his bed as he felt her presence vanish. _I hope it isn't something bad,_ he thought, noting that the sudden shift in tone had dealt with a certain _problem_ that had arisen due to Rita's actions. He could feel the ghost of her lips against his skin, the soft warmth of her breasts enfolding his back…

Then he had a problem again.

After a quick shower, the young wizard set about making breakfast and although he didn't _really_ have to cook for the Dursley's, it was something he'd come to enjoy, even more so now that they weren't being complete arseholes. _Still,_ he thought, flipping a griddle cake, _at least I won't have to make a huge amount..._ Then, he remembered that he had to take a nutrient potion with breakfast. And Rita wasn't there to duplicate the food. _Guess I have to, after all._

Aunt Petunia came down the stairs to smell of pancakes and bacon, a smile tugging at her lips as she opened the kitchen door. _Aww, Harry's so thoughtful,_ she marveled before she saw the massive pile of flapjacks on the table. "Er, Harry dear?" She started slowly, "You know I've been cutting down on the food, right?"

"I know, Aunt Petunia, it's…" He blushed adorably and Petunia had to resist the urge to pinch his cheeks and coo. "It's for me. I'm taking nutrient potions, and they need _a lot_ of food to work properly." ' _And I have to take them because you half-starved me most of my life_ ,' went tastefully unsaid.

"I see," the thin muggle muttered, shame burning in her breast, "Well, let me get some tea started and I'll help you, Harry dear."

"That sounds…nice, Aunt Petunia," Harry said tentatively, giving her a small, hopeful smile.

She stroked his messy hair and went about her business, putting the kettle on for her morning tea and getting the coffee going for Vernon before taking the stove next to Harry, expertly flipping the bacon while adding a few rashers more to the pan. "Your new clothes are in the dryer, dear; and while I think I know your size, I want you to try them on see if anything doesn't fit."

"Okay, Aunt Petunia," the young wizard murmured, almost unconsciously edging towards the warmth at his side. With a nervous, silent gulp, he hesitantly leaned into Petunia's side, flinching when her arm rose and settled around his shoulders like a thin, motherly mantle. He relaxed against her, a smile quirking his lips as she began to hum and they continued to cook.

It lasted all of two minutes before a band of something iron-hard and white-hot fastened around his neck, choking the air out of his lungs and bringing burning tears to his eyes. With experience borne of years suffering in silence, Harry stifled his emotions, shoving them back down as he took the last pancake off the pan, his knuckles white and his hands shaking. "Excuse me," he muttered, turning off the stove and turning away from Aunt Petunia, ignoring her concerned call as he raced up the stairs, quietly closed the door before throwing himself on the bed and burying his face in his pillow just as he began to cry.

Muffled by the pillow, his sobs couldn't drown out the thoughts furiously racing through his skull. _That was how it should been!_ He raged in his mind, That _was how it should've been! Not how it_ was _! I could've had a loving Aunt and Uncle, a Cousin who would've been like my brother! Instead…_

There was a soft rap on the door, though no one entered. "Harry?" Uncle Vernon's concerned voice filtered through the wood. "You alright in there, lad?"

That made the lump in Harry's throat burn all the hotter. _You don't_ care. _You've_ never _**cared.**_ _You only care_ now _because you were_ made to. Clearing his throat, Harry called back, "I'm fine, Uncle Vernon, I just need to get something." _The will to not curse your faces off._

"I…I see. Well, I'm going in to work, so I'll see you this evening," Vernon replied after a second. "Stiff upper lip, lad, stiff upper lip."

His eye twitched, and the next minute was spent in silence before another set of knocks came. "You alright, cousin?" Dudley asked sheepishly.

"I'm fine, Dudley," The young wizard replied flatly, digging a potion out of his trunk and pausing as a thought occurred. _I really need to make a note to myself and put all my stuff in father's trunk._ Resolving to move his stuff over, Harry closed his trunk and took a deep breath.

"I'm going to mow the yard at Number Thirteen," the fat young muggle offered, "If you want, I'm sure you could come with."

"No, thank you Dudley."

"Alright, see you in a bit." And with that, there was silence. Harry let his head rest on the edge of his bed, breathing deeply as he tamped down on the anger and resentment still lingering inside.

Feeling his stomach growl, he sighed and pushed himself up, opening the door to find a startled Petunia with her hand raised to knock. "Oh, Harry…" She struggled to speak, her hands worrying the hem of her apron, "I-uh, I'm…"

Steeling himself, Harry stepped forward and wrapped his arms around his aunt, his cheek resting over her hammering heart. Slowly, she reached up and hugged him back, planting a soft kiss on his hair.

 _This feels nice, warm and kind of soft…but not as nice as Rita. Not as soft as Rita. Not as_ kind _as Rita._ Harry's eyes opened, his visage hardening into one chiseled from stone as he realized something. _I hate you. I hate you all._

…

Rita pushed her way to the front of the throng, ignoring the protests and insults in return as she joined a man just in front of the simple stage set up before them, lined with severe-looking Aurors. "Bozo!" She called, grabbing the homeless-looking man by the shoulder, nearly jostling the camera out of his hands. "What's going on?"

William Ozziman the Third, 'Billy' to his friends and 'Bozo' to his co-workers, turned a pair of bloodshot brown eyes on his long-time reporting partner, scratching at the deep grey beard-show on his lower face. "Don't know fer certain," He grunted, "We all got the same letter, sayin' someone's 'scaped from Azkaban, no one knows who. But all this hullabaloo's got me thinkin' it's one of the bad ones."

Rita felt herself grow cold at the thought of a maniac like Bellatrix Lestrange or Evan Rosier escaping, but the worst possible one would've been… _Oh Merlin, no. Not_ Him. _Not Black. Please don't be Black, please don't be Black._

A door opened behind the stage and Amelia Bones ascended the stage to stand behind the podium, her steel-gray hair and monocle glinting in the dim light, only adding to the imposing aura of the woman who had survived Voldemort's Reign and became the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. "Thank you all for coming this morning," Amelia began stiffly, looking as if she'd rather be anywhere else, "This is an emergency press release with the purpose of warning the Wizarding World. Sometime last night, Sirius Black escaped his cell in the High Security Wing of Azkaban Wizarding Prison."

There was a second of silence before it seemed like a storm had been birthed in the chamber, shouts and screams crashing over one another, but Rita heard none of it. Her skin had paled to a sickly shade, her long green nails digging into the meat of her arm even as her Qwik-Quotes Quill scribbled furiously on a floating piece of parchment.

Amelia Bones frowned severely, drawing her wand and silencing the congregation with a wave. "There will be silence," she growled, "Or I will make it silent. This is not the time to panic."

"Then _when_?!" Someone in the crowd shrieked as the Silence Spell was canceled, "Sirius Black was _You-Know-Who's_ right hand! He killed _thirteen Muggles_ with _one Curse!"_

"He is still a man, a man who's spent eleven years being exposed to Dementors every day," Amelia replied bluntly, "He is weak, wand-less and an enemy of the people, wizarding or not. To that effect, a Kiss-on-Sight order has been signed by Minister Fudge and a manhunt ordered. Even as we speak, Aurors are sweeping Diagon and Knockturn Alley, as well Hogsmeade, Godric's Hollow and others. The Irish and French Ministries have been warned, and it has been decided that the Muggle World should be warned as well, naming Black as a Mass-Murderer who killed the Muggles with a muggle wand called a 'gun.'"

Something in that speech struck Rita as odd and she shoved her hand in the air, her ugly green nails catching the light. "Why Godric's Hollow?" She asked, "Black's well-known as You-Know-Who's right hand man, so why would he go to the scene of his master's downfall? And why Hogsmeade? Headmaster Dumbledore was reported as the only wizard You-Know-Who feared."

Bones fixed an angry glare at the reporter, her monocle flashing threateningly. "Because," she gritted out unwillingly, "It was reported that, in the days before his escape, Black was heard muttering…' _He's at Hogwarts.'_ "

Rita felt the earth drop out from under her, her heart landing somewhere around her ankles with a hollow _thunk._ "He…Black…He's after _Harry Potter?_ "

Amelia growled under her breath as the crowd paled and the Aurors scowled. "That is what is assumed, yes."

Someone in the crowd, Rita faintly recognized it as a reporter for _Witch Weekly_ , shouted, "What is being done to protect the Boy-Who-Lived?! Are you going to take him into protective custody?!"

Her heart, still sitting near her feet, went still.

"I have been _assured_ ," Even a deaf man could've heard the sarcasm think in Bones' voice, "That Harry Potter is being…' _adequately protected from those who would wish him harm,'_ by the Chief Warlock."

Rita's hands curled into fists, her nails digging into her palms hard enough to draw blood. _Let Black come,_ she stated in her head, her brown eyes glimmering with the promise of violence. _I'll kill that traitorous fuck. No one touches_ **My** _Harry._

…

…

…

 **A/N: Remember how, in the A/N for the last chapter, I said I didn't know how long the inspiration train would keep rolling? Turns out, it was all year, but around the globe.**

 **I started this chapter almost immediately after the last one, but my attention was taken by finishing Still Not A Hero (and I should really get around to updating the sequel to that) as well as new stories, the biggest one being Console, my Worm/Kinda-Gamer fic. So, it wasn't a lack of inspiration, it was** _ **too much**_ **inspiration! Just…not for this story. Sorry.**

' **Tis an unfortunate fact about me, but I just have too many ideas you guys. I mean, I have most of the summer, third year and summer fourth year planned out, but…**

 **Just to be clear, Harry won't be having sex with Rita until summer fourth year, but after he becomes thirteen, there will be some petting, groping, exploring of bodies, etc. If that turns you off, well…I don't care. But you can look forward to learning more about Pansy, Millicent, Luna as well as Susan and Hannah. And I haven't forgotten about Ron and Hermione.**

 **Though, to completely honest, I don't like Ron. Don't expect him to be a huge part of the story.**

 **I also won't be making up some kind of pseudoscience magic system for one simple reason: Science. Is boring. What you can do with science is amazing, awesome and all that, but science itself, and math? Boring. As. Fuck.**

 **Probably one of the worst things you can do is explain how the magic works, 'cause after you do that, it's not magic anymore, it's fucking science that does magical things, like regular fucking science but with wands. It's inane and misses the whole point of magic: It's** _ **fucking Magic. It shouldn't be explained, it shouldn't be mundane, it's**_ **fucking** _ **MAGIC.**_ **Which is also why I'm not a fan of the movies after Year 2. Losing that sense of wonder, making magic just another** _ **thing you do**_ **feels like a crime against imagination.**

 **To be fair, normalizing once-strange things is something that happens, but** _ **still**_ **.** _ **Magic.**_

 **Also, Luna. I'm not a fan of people who write her as being insane but somehow always right about everything. I prefer to think of her as a strange, kinda loopy but very sweet girl who's loopiness comes from living with a magizoologist; who knows what kind of things she's eaten? Maybe some of them had odd effects on her brain chemistry and unlocked something humanity had forgotten? Maybe she's a shaman, how about that?**

 **Anyway, thanks for reading this chapter, why not leave a review on the way out?**

 **Big thanks, as always, to Dairegh, NorthSouthGorem, Kurogane7 and AJR3333 for being excellent sounding boards, editors and the like! Go give a checking-out and tell 'em Soleneus sent ya!**

 **And that they owe me a pizza!**

 **Dairegh: And don't forget to leave your thoughts on the chapter in a review! Your input helps motivate us authors. : )**

 **Stay Awesome.**

 **~Soleneus**

 **P.S.: I don't know when I'm going to update this next, but I can guarantee it won't be a year, though it might be a while. I don't know if you've come from my other stories, or if this story is a stepping-off point for my other stuff, but I'm in the process of moving from Seattle, Washington to Key West, Florida. It's gonna be a big change to say the least, so…**

 **Yeah.**

 **But I am working on my other stories, with The Life With Monster Girls being next on my list of stories to update, so look forward to that.**

 **Also, some people have been wondering why the narration is insulting to pretty much everyone, and here's why: Technically, this is a story being told to someone, and the narrator doesn't like pretty much everyone. That's why. Who the narrator is, is related to who the author of the mysterious journal is.**

 **It's funny, seeing people guessing who the author is. I've seen Snape, Lucius Malfoy and even Voldemort, which are all wrong. But keep trying, you might get it eventually.**

 **;)**

 **Stay Awesome Some More.**

 **~still Soleneus**


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